League Short Stories
by meltedjujubees
Summary: Short stories about as many different league characters as I can think of a story for! Every chapter is a different story. I promise they're not all doom and gloom. Rated M just to be safe. Please review, I'd really appreciate feedback! (New stories will be added continuously, I hope.)
1. Diana short

Diana's fingers twitched, contracting ever so slightly around the hilt of her blade, the leather of the pommel cutting into her palm. She was still calm, for the time being. She cleared her throat and tried again. "But if you'd just listen to what I've found-"

The elder directly in front of her hissed and leaned forward out of his chair, effectively cutting her off, and not for the first time. "We see what you've found quite clearly!" He practically screeched, gesturing at the armor and blade that now adorned Diana's form. "It's treason, you bringing that traitorous armor into one of our holiest of places! You're a heretic, Diana!"

No one dared to speak, or to challenge his ruling. It was so utterly silent, Diana would have sworn the elders could hear her heart beating frantically; hear the uneven breaths she tried so hard to hush. He held his stance over the table, pointing accusingly at Diana across the room for a few seconds more before collapsing back in his chair, his hand going under the cowl across his face to rub his eyes. "But you're young, and naïve." He consented. "There is forgiveness to be had yet. Discard the so called Lunari artifacts, renounce this unfounded belief, and pledge your allegiance to the sun once more. You can be saved."

Diana's eyes, the icy blue eyes so different from every single Solari on the accursed mountain, narrowed to slits. She squared her shoulders, tilted her chin up in defiance.

"I will not"

She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard the elder sigh. "Then die with your heresy."

Almost instantly, the Solari guards that always stood vigil outside the elders chamber's poured into the room, brandishing the traditional spears they always carried. Diana shifted to a more defensive stance, crouching low and bringing her scythe to bear. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and tried to still her pounding heart. There were too many, too many guards for her to defend against. She resigned herself to her fate; she would die valiantly defending the truth.

The guards hesitated for only a second, perhaps because of the reluctance the kill a small woman all alone, then rushed forward together as a unit. Diana whipped her scythe in front of her, preparing for a painfully abrupt end, when all at once everything seemed to stop. The guards stopped moving, the elders all made strangled noises of surprise, some even removing the trademark cowls from the faces in an effort to get a better glimpse. Silvery light radiated from Diana's skin, bathing the guards closest to her in a pale glow. And then she felt different, weightless, impossibly strong. This new feeling flowed through her muscles, from her feet to her legs, from her torso to her neck… It was heady, intoxicating, and made her feel like nothing else she had ever experienced… Until it reached her face. The power stopped at her forehead, collecting into a central point, then coalesced into the most blinding, debilitating pain that Diana had ever felt. She fell to her knees, dropping her beloved moon blade to the floor beside her. She clutched at her forehead, screeching like a wounded animal. Her forehead was on fire, she was sure. Her mind was being cleaved in two, it was burning…

Everyone in the room stared, rooted in place at the sight of the glowing woman, keening in pain and clawing at her face. And then all at once, the room was silent once more. Diana gasped, raggedly trying to suck in air. It seemed to come quickly to her, filling her with new strength. She took one last breath, grabbed the hilt of her blade, and then rose from her position on the floor. The elders that had been so enraptured with the scene before them now gasped in horror. Where Diana had once had smooth skin, was now marred by a crescent shaped scar, spreading across her forehead and glowing brightly. Diana grinned wickedly at the elders and the guards that stood warily before her. They now seemed so… insignificant. Harmless. She barked one short, mirthless laugh before lunging at her first target in the group of guards. Her blade glowed with the luminance of the moon, an arc of light flowing from it, connecting with the soldier and marking him for dead. She dashed from him to his comrades, from man to man, slashing and hacking and cutting her foes down with impunity. They tried to fight, to strike down the moon worshiper where she killed, but she was intangible, she was nothing but moonlight slipping through their grasps. It seemed like years later that the beam of light that left screams and blood and death in its wake finally stopped moving, once more turning back into Diana. Her blade was stained red, her new scar glowing brighter than the moon itself. And her eyes, the eyes that had been impossibly blue before, now shone silver, focused on the elders before her.

"I tried to show you the light that existed even in the dark. I tried to reason and enlighten. But you would cast me out and strike me down, even in the face of truth. Your ignorance has doomed you. Rest easy knowing the Solari shall be better off."

Diana gave them one last second to absorb her judgment, one last second to appreciate the living embodiment of them moon before them, before she dashed into their midst and dispatched them like she did with the soldiers; effortlessly and without prejudice. She was methodical, she was pure light. She was merciless.

She spared the head elder that had doomed her for last. He was struck from his mighty position, reduced to cowering on the floor beneath the might of the moon. He shook as Diana approached him, flicking the blood from her blade with one quick twist of her wrist.

The elder shut his mouth, tilted his chin back much like Diana had before in the face of inevitability. But where Diana had been saved, there was no moon to absolve the elder from his fate, no beloved sun to cast away the darkness.

"You are a heretic, the very scorn of what you worship. You murder with injustice. In time, the Chosen of the Sun shall end you."

Diana stopped her advance, once again focusing her shrewd gaze on the high elder. He'd said the one thing that could reach her, that could affect her in any way. After a moment of hesitation, Diana carried on, swinging her blade forwards.

"The moon eclipses the sun, Chosen or not."

And with that, Diana swung her moon blade forward and ended the reign of the Solari elders.

Leona could feel the death long before she climbed the steps to the elder's chambers, long before she entered their vaulted hearing room and came upon the mutilated bodies that littered the floor. With the scent of blood and death choking her, she rushed passed the mass that used to be the Solari guard and fell to her knees beside the high elder. Tears stung her eyes and clouded her vision as she pulled his head onto her lap. Her forehead fell, falling to touch his as tears dripped from her nose.

"This is my fault. I was gone, I was tasked by the sun with your protection and I've failed you all'

And she knew beyond a doubt who it was that ruined the Solari so completely. Leona was supposed to be protecting her especially. Diana was small and weak, her mind filled with traitorous ideals and whimsical fantasies about the moon, but still Leona loved her, still she strove to protect her from herself and from the rest of the Solari. She knew that Diana had found exactly what she was looking for in the cave down the mountain, and that she meant to present it to the elders immediately. Leona cursed herself again, gripping the roots of her hair and pulling until she thought she'd rip it all out. She groaned quietly, tears streaming down her face.

'I should have been here!' She chanted to herself over and over again, the mantra that would be the death of her. She stayed in that position for a long time, for hours it seemed like, gripping her hair, gritting her teeth, rocking and crying and cursing herself for her fatal negligence. Finally, when she was sure the moon was well above her, she set the elder gently back on the floor and left the slaughter behind her.

Diana knew that she would find her here. It was her favorite garden to come to at night, when she was feeling stuck and afraid. The moon would always hang silently above her, bathing her in its quiet comfort. Leona used to sit with her here sometimes, to listen to the inner turmoil that defined Diana. She knew when Leona had finally found her; the footsteps on small stepping stones and soft grass were all too familiar. They stopped short, right inside the entrance she guessed.

"You killed them."

It was spoken so softly, but Diana could feel the anguish and the horrible anger that writhed beneath her placid words. Diana flinched, but turned to face her.

"They would not listen. I tried, Leona, to make them see reason. Believe me."

This was the first time that Leona had seen Diana's face since her attack on the elders; she gasped, closing the distance between them.

"What happened to your face? What have you done?"

Leona raised a finger to brush against the scar that now marred Diana's face.

"And your eyes…" She murmured.

Diana tilted her head away. "They are gifts from the moon. They mark me as chosen."

Leona retracted her hand slowly, still gazing at Diana's carefully stoic gaze that now shone silver.

"Diana, you killed our high elders… I was charged with protecting them! They were my responsibility and you slaughtered them! Do you know what you've done, what this means? Do you know-"

Diana seethed, spitting out her interruption.

"What about ME Leona? Was I not promised the same protection you pledged to them? Was I not more in need of it, when they sentenced me to death for finding the truth? You left me to their mercy and I was forced to do what was right! Do not speak to me about responsibility!"

Leona recoiled as if Diana's words had physically harmed her, yanking her hands to her sides and stepping away. Before Leona could speak again, Diana continued.

"I found the truth. I was reasonable, and they deemed me a heretic. You're all the same, blinded by the sun you revere so much!"

Leona was silent, couldn't think of the proper response to her outburst. How could this be the same Diana she knew? The meek girl who was too small for the Solari, too obsessed with books for someone so young, too taken with the moon for her own good. She was now imposing, shining in the moonlight. The crescent blade she carried by her side filled her with fear. Her eyes, once so bright and young and innocent now shone ethereal in their beauty, piercing and dangerous.

This was not Diana.

Diana could feel her assessment, could ascertain the judgment as if she'd spoken aloud. She grabbed her blade from where it rested against the garden wall, twirled it in her hands and stepped away from Leona.

"The sun and the moon share a sky, Leona. We are chosen by the gods. We were meant for more. The verdicts of mere men shall not hinder our work, will not sway me from finding the truth." She paused the turn back to Leona, still standing perfectly still in the middle of the garden, hands held tightly to her sides.

"You can join me."

She slowly turned to face her, her eyes conveying her answer better than words ever could.

"I'm sorry Diana, but I cannot."

Her voice was strangled, and her eyes anguished. They were alight with tears, like Diana's were with moonlight.

"Farewell, Chosen of the Sun."

And like that she was gone, like the last phantom rays of moon light in the face of morning.


	2. Zed short

He had expected resistance, not surrender.

This unforeseen reaction… Stalled him. Stayed his hand, made him listen. He was invited to enter the temple with his former master, and he complied. He signaled his students with a slight turn of his hand; he knew they would wait without movement or complaint, until he returned. The master said nothing as they walked up the temple's steps, the only sound in the air the slight scraping of dry leaves being tossed against the stones steps by the wind. Zed steadied himself with a deep breath as he followed his master through the door.

He knew where they were going; this part of the temple was dark and foreboding , sealed to the majority of the kinkou order. It was where Zed had found the way of the shadow, and irrevocably changed his life. And he thought to himself, as he walked farther down the hallway with an ever increasing sense of dread, if it was the right path to take. Had he been leading his students, his faithful followers, to ruin? Had he unintentionally been feeding them lies? Why else would the master be so sure that Zed was taking the wrong path, and offer him another chance at redemption? It had been years since Zed disobeyed the master and opened his own Pandora's Box, and the master –grey now with age, he notice, and much slower- still had hope to save him. But Zed did not share the same hope. How could he? He'd spent every moment of every day of the last decade immersing himself in his shadow technique, and bestowing the knowledge unto his followers. He'd clung to his belief religiously, and the thought that he could be wrong terrified, truly terrified the usually stoic ninja to his core. The master seemed to sense Zed's inner turmoil, and spoke quietly.

"You may not see it now, Zed, but there is always hope."

Again, he was forced to ponder the possibility of hope. It had been lost to him for so long, taken away when he was too young to understand what it was that he'd lost. And yet, here it was, so easily offered to him.

Hope.

And as effortlessly as it had been to believe that there was hope to be had, it was swiftly destroyed.

Because there it was, there was the small, inoffensive box that had started this all. So plain, with simple carvings that graced it's sides. A miniscule, matte black lock that looked nowhere near strong enough to hold what Zed knew was swirling inside hung loosely against the front of the box. Zed knew hope had no chance to exist, because as soon as he entered the room he could feel the box, beckoning to him to open it once again, to complete his training. It was so irresistibly tempting, and so utterly undeniable, Zed didn't know how he didn't immediately rush to its side, like a crazed, long lost lover. It took all his power to stumble back outside the doorway, which finally caught the master's attention.

He looked at Zed with those strangely grey eyes that were the mark of The Eye of Twilight, but turned back to the box.

Zed wondered how he could possibly stand to be so near it.

"It is difficult for you, I can see, but you have the strength to defeat this. This will not destroy you, Zed. Now join me."

And Zed forced himself forward, and to stand ahead of the master, stopping in front of the box. The master prompted him with a nod, and he kneeled. Shakily, after what seemed like an eternity, he lifted the lid of the box.

The effect was immediate.

Zed was assaulted by vicious, seductive whispers that filled his head, each vying to be heard over the other. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only try to focus on the multitude of voices that screamed and cried and laughed, joining together in a cacophony of the insane. He clutched his head, wrenching at his hair and his skin, anything to pry away the horrific voices that gripped his mind. He was drowning in his own consciousness. He thought he could hear the master saying something – was he screaming? – but he could only think, 'make it stop, make it stop, make it stop…'

And like that, Zed had his savior.

One voice in his head that stilled the others.

"Embrace the shadows."

And not of his own will, he opened his eyes. He didn't know how he didn't scream in fear, or run for the door. Standing above the box was a shadow, comprised of swirling miasmas that twisted and turned sickeningly. But it was the shadow's eyes, brilliant red eyes that were set behind a foggy mask that paralyzed Zed and stilled the faintest of whispers in his mind. And as he stared, Zed realized that this shadow was him, was his shape and build, with the same blades he favored affixed to its ephemeral arms and wispy shoulders. And quicker than he could ever hope to follow or react to, the shadow raised its arm and slashed one of the dark blades across Zed's unprotected face.

Zed screamed in pain, finally being released from his paralysis to clutch his face, streaming with blood from the gash that reached from the top of his right scalp, across his right eye and nose, to below his left ear, splitting his chin. And suddenly he felt vile, sick to his stomach, as if he was being filled with the most vicious of all poisons in Ionia. It spread from his face to his torso, to all of his limbs. And then that voice… The thick voice of the shadow that had maimed him.

It was in his head.

"I am the blade in the darkness. And now I am you."

Zed tried to scream, to move or do anything, but could only watch in terror from his mind as he, as this shadow, rose from the floor, dripping blood all the way. He turned to the master, who was now standing in the middle of the room, face carefully emotionless. He was unarmed and remained unmoving. And staring at what Zed had become, he hung his head.

"I've failed you again, Zed. And I am truly sorry."

Zed tried to respond, but the shadow controlled his tongue. Zed could feel the shadows invasive thoughts that were like clouds of poison, pervading his mind. Murderous, violent thoughts… Zed tried to scream out a warning, but only managed to twitch his fingers. The same hand, in but a second, lunged forward and slashed out at the masters exposed neck.

And just like that, he'd ended the Kinkou.

And all Zed could do was watch in horror and shame as his old master tumbled to the floor, spreading his own puddle of blood across the wood.

And then he was angry, so indescribably furious. At the shadow that had ruined his life and murdered his master, and himself for opening that box in a petty fit of jealously so many years ago.. And at the master, for so callously forcing him to open the box when he ought to have known he could never handle doing it again. How could he? Should not the very Eye of Twilight have been able to see the outcome of this fools venture? The master had ruined Zed and cursed him to a life of shadows. His life, only one life, was not enough to atone for the wrong he had committed.

It was Zed's anger that allowed him to finally control the poisonous shadow he knew he'd never be without again.

"Out. We will take the Kinkou, together."

He could almost feel the shadow grin, and he watched, half amazed and half fearfully, as the shadow melted from his form, oozing across the bloody floor to the walls outside the room. Even in the shadow's absence, Zed still felt toxic.

And angry. So horrifically angry. He wiped vigorously at his face, catching the last of the blood dripping from his chin. Finally, he leaned over to grab the masters head that lolled against the floor stained with spilled life, then strode out the door and down the hall, where his shadow was waiting. He paused only once on his way out of the temple to grab a metal mask attached to one of the many suits of armor that decorated the temple, affix it to his face, and stride out of the temple and into the sun.

Shen has been waiting very, very anxiously outside the temple for Zed's and his father's return. Nature seemed very silent that day, as if it too were waiting to see what happened. He, like everyone assembled, had heard Zed scream out in pain. A few of the Kinkou had jumped up as if to enter the temple, but Shen swiftly motioned them away. His father had been clear; no one was to enter the temple as long as he and Zed were in there. And as much as it pained him, he stood stock still and waited.

Zed's company, he noticed, had kept unsettlingly still. Not a single one of them had so much as twitched at the sound of their leader in pain. Shen was still warily eyeing the group when he heard someone leaving the temple. It was Zed, for sure; the figure was large and muscled, unlike his aging father. Unease twisted his stomach.

The doorway of the temple bathed him in darkness for a moment longer, before he stepped into the light. Shen immediately sprung from his slouched position against the walls surrounding the temple.

Zed's face was now covered, but he could still see his eyes. Eyes that had once been dark and troubled, were now inexplicably and sinisterly glowing red, and they scared Shen in a primitive, instinctive way. And behind Zed was his shadow, so impossibly dark and foreboding. Only Shen was so focused on this unnatural shadow that clung to the temple walls and Zed's feet, so only he saw it slink away from Zed's form and away from his sight.

It was then that everyone started screaming.

Zed had thrown the masters head in the midst of the kinkou, where it thudded sickeningly against the grass, coming to a stop at Shen's feet. Before Shen could move his frozen muscles, or even being to process how drastically his life had changed in the course of seconds, Zed shouted above the terrified screaming, his voice unimaginably loud and dark and demanding.

"Strike down this fools order! Slaughter every last ninja hindered by balance!"

And with that, Zed had started a war.

He watched his expertly trained students slaughter the lesser kinkou, reducing them to nothing. He joined the fray, rejoicing in every drop of blood he spilled. His shadow was wreaking a havoc of its own, until it came to Zed's side. Together, master and shadow mercilessly cut down the kinkou, not bothering to discern skilled warriors from innocent mothers and children; everyone brutally met the same end. Zed could smell blood and death and sweat and despair, and reveled in it. It fed his shadow's bloodlust, fueled his anger. He danced on blood and around bodies, his blades cutting through all. And the slaughter that had been so effortlessly executed was over in minutes.

The Kinkou were no more.

It was hours later, as Zed sat upon the throne he had rightfully acquired through blood and conquest, that one of his best advisors sought him out. He bowed low.

"Master Zed."

Zed inclined his head.

"Speak." He said with that new voice that rang with darkness.

The ninja appeared unaffected.

"Shen has escaped with a select few kinkou. We could not find them."

Zed pondered this for a moment. He thought he ought to be angry that his students couldn't catch but a few weak ninjas… But found himself reveling in the news instead. This was his chance to best Shen yet again, to take the last thing that held any meaning to him and claim his life, once and for all.

The student couldn't see Zed's face, but saw each gloved hand clench around the arm rests of his throne, and the shadow that now accompanied him everywhere, that surrounded itself in an aura of terror and death, snuck up the walls to stand behind him.

Both Zeds grinned.


	3. Yasuo short

Yasuo twirled his sword's hilt in his fingers, ignoring the small eddies of air that flowed from the tip of the blade, swirling the dust at his feet.

He realized his hands were shaking.

He gripped his sword significantly tighter, clenching his other hand into an uncomfortably tight fist. He started at his white knuckles, adjusting his position on the rock he was perched on. He knew he should be moving, the anxiety in his legs screaming at him to run, but he had been running for so _long_. He just needed to rest.

He just needed to think.

Because the question that was burning a hole in his mind, that wouldn't let him sleep or eat or drink.

Who?

Who was it? He'd been exiled and ruined, by his own country and people. Accused of murdering the very elder he was elected to protect! The injustice was venom in his veins and bile in his mouth. Every second of his life on the run, he'd run through every possibility of every person he'd ever met.

No one knew the winds like him.

So obviously, someone had gone through very great, exhausting lengths to set Yasuo up. To make the crime seem so perfectly unique to him.

And they had succeeded.

Yasuo slammed his tight fist against the rock, ignoring the blood that dripped from his hand when he lifted it away. It _angered _him, enraged him so fully and completely that this hate filled person he'd become in such a short time terrified him.

Besides the shock at being set up, the fear for Ionia's safety after the invasion, the despair for the people he'd hurt trying to escape, the betrayal of his people is what burned the most.

Yasuo felt like he was drowning in hopelessness, that they'd find him stranded here someday, a withered husk that had never held anything inside at all.

He pushed himself roughly off the rock. At least running kept him mind focused on something.

He'd just begun walking when he heard the dry brush behind him rustling. He whipped his head around, his sword at the ready. A involved in his self-loathing as he was, he thought he'd been carefully scanning for intruders.

The noise in question pushed apart the last of the scrubby trees and foliage, entering Yasuo's line of sight. The man was so reminiscent of himself, if slightly larger and carrying a different weapon.

Yasuo let his sword fall to his side, once again blowing small rivulets of air across the earth.

He stood up straight, lifting his chin and trying to ignore the new stinging in his eyes, the tightness of his throat.

"Hello, brother."


	4. Quinn short

She wasn't sure who she was anymore.

Everything she thought she knew about life and death, about priorities and luck and circumstance and love and hate or anything, was wrong. There wasn't anything in the world she was sure about anymore and how could she be? She had been so steadfast and stubborn in her belief that she, like her brother, was undeniably invincible. And clearly, they could handle anyone and anything, if they were together.

And for a while, they could.

But as oft does in a child's mind, it never occurs to them that they are not exempt from the laws of nature, and that fate is very cruel. It wasn't until her brother lay bleeding in her hands and hopelessly struggling to breathe that Quinn was painfully forced to the realization that children such as themselves were not infallible.

Even in the light of agonizingly contradicting evidence, Quinn still believed that if she could just get her brother back to her parents, they'd get him to a healer and he'd be released in no time, right as rain, just like all the stories of super heroes she and her brother loved so much. He drew another rattling breath, a noise unlike Quinn had ever heard another human being make in her entire life.

She had never felt a dread so strong, and would never again.

She shook her brother once more, in the vain hope that she could shake the irreversible wounds away and that they could get up and go back home and never leave again.

"Please," She sobbed, begging him once more. "Please don't leave me."

She couldn't see.

Panicked, she scrubbed furiously at the tears that would dare blur her vision. Uninhibited, her eyes searched her brothers face for a sign, anything, that he was consenting to her please and not leaving her all alone.

What she saw would haunt her every day for the rest of her life.

His eyes, once so bright and eager to experience new things, were clouded and dull and very unfocused, loosely centered around Quinn's face. His skin was so, so pale, all the color that had once flushed his cheeks now spilling out, wasted, onto the grass beside him. He tried to lift his hand, she thought, to touch her face, but he hardly had the strength to move his fingers. The hand limply flopped back to the earth.

"I'm sorry, I really am! I need you here! Please don't leave!"

Her tears were pouring down her cheeks now, and falling onto her brother's ashen face. She tried to scrub them away, but every tear was readily replaced. She gave up on the hopeless endeavor, settling to pull her brother closer to her chest. She leaned her forehead against his, rocking them back and forth, moaning "Please, please, please…"

Her mantra fell on dying ears.

She felt ghostly fingers press against her exposed cheek, fingers she knew used to be deft and clever and strong. She pressed her own fingers against them, holding them there, and tilted her head back once more to study her brother's face. His complexion, if possible, was paler, his eyes now slick with tears. He took a deep, shuddering breath that made his whole body flinch in pain. He opened his mouth to speak.

"I'll be here. Forever and always."

But his voice was the sound of death and decay, and so silent Quinn almost missed it. Before she could respond, his eyes rolled back into his head and his body heaved once more, and then was still. Quinn blinked rapidly; she released the hold she had on his hand against her face to grip his shoulders.

His hand dropped with a muted thud against the grass.

She shook him, gently at first, but increasing in violence the longer the action didn't elicit a response.

"No, no, no, no, no!"

She wailed into the darkening forest.

She yanked at her hair, pulling several handfuls from the roots while still screaming her vehement denial to the sky. She yelled her curses at the heavens until the sky was black and she could speak no longer. She still clutched her brother in the darkness. She moaned once more, the sound scraping painfully against her throat.

"This wasn't supposed to happen."

Her whisper was raw and nearly unintelligible. She sniffed, and all of a sudden the weight on the situation sat heavily on her eyelids. She struggled to keep them open.

Quinn, impossibly, fell asleep.

She awoke in the morning cold and damp and painfully stiff. She tried to shuffle away from where she fell asleep, eyes still stuck shut, so she didn't have to see what her brother had turned into during the night. She hesitated once, several feet away, her throat thick with new tears and scraped raw from the night before.

"Goodbye, Caleb."

She left him behind.

She wandered alone, starving and tired, half delirious through the forest for the rest of that day. She vaguely realized that the forest around her was familiar, but in her dead mind, it didn't occur to her why.

The sun was beginning to wink behind the tree line when Quinn stumbled into a small, scrubby clearing that once again, was faintly familiar. She gazed from one side, her eyes unfocused and unseeing. She was about to shamble away, back on her aimless journey to nowhere, when she heard the quietest of noises. She stopped moving and held her breath, waiting.

And there it was again, this time louder. A slight, painful sounding chirp coming from the middle of the small field. It took her feet a moment to obey, but she sluggishly made her way towards where she thought the sound had originated from. And what she found shocked her from her zombie-like state.

A large, indescribably beautiful eagle was sprawled on the dew covered grass, clearly injured and unable to move. He let out another plaintive cry that beckoned Quinn closer. His left wing was bent at an awkward angle, his deep blue tail feathers crushed and broken. Although his body was frail, the birds gaze was invariably sharp; it tracked Quinn's every movement across the grass. She knelt next to the bird, and Quinn, ever the avid nature enthusiast, recognized it to be a previously perceived extinct species of Demacian Eagle.

In spite of everything, the sight still took her breath away. She tentatively inched her hand towards the bird, his eyes following her hand carefully. She hesitated when her fingers were near to touching the bird's injured wing, as if waiting for permission.

The eagle blinked.

Quinn slowly brushed her fingers across the long feathers, which were softer than she previously had thought. The bird shifted, but otherwise allowed her to continue to stroke his feathers. After a few minutes, the eagle cooed as if to remind her that he was still injured and in pain, spurring Quinn into action. She gently, ever so carefully, maneuvered her fingers under the eagle's body and lifted him to her chest, careful not to jostle the bad wing. The eagle was silent and still, allowing her to help. And as she carried the eagle that was nearly as big as she was, even with wings folded, out of the clearing, she realized why these woods seemed so familiar.

It was a part of the forest that was relatively close to her old house, that she and her brother would regularly frequent when they were younger to play pretend super heroes and villains. And as Quinn glanced down at the giant eagle clutched gingerly in her arms, she knew that her brother would be with her, in a sense, by way of his favorite redeeming quality in the heroes he so revered.

"Come on, Valor. Let's go home."


	5. Lux short

Lux was in big trouble.

It was her specific job description to be effortlessly stealthy, and to be able to slink and spy anywhere anyone could dream of. That was why she was one of the biggest jewels in Demacia's military crown; She'd been perfecting the art of subterfuge since she was 13.

And yet, here she was, hiding in an elegant yet totally unfamiliar bathroom, head clutched in her hands and silently cursing herself and her stupidity.

_How_ did she lose her composure so quickly and easily? Everything had been going according the plan that evening; she went to dinner at the Du Couteau's, like she was supposed to. She played up her disguise to perfection, like she was _supposed_ to. And still, she had failed.

Lux never failed.

Not when it came to magic, and not when it came to spying. And she especially didn't fail because of some… Guy.

She was embarrassed to admit it to herself, but there was really no getting around it. She had let a chiseled face and dreamy eyes to blow her cover, and put her life in jeopardy.

In and of itself, it was still extremely bizarre. By circumstance, Lux was regularly exposed to every variety of people, of which countless many were above and beyond attractive. And she had never, not once, _ever,_ blown her cover.

She tried to recall the moment at the dinner where she had ruined the mission. Unsurprisingly, it was easy to pinpoint.

For this particular voyage, Lux was impersonating a Zaunite ambassador. The head of the Du Couteau residence regularly met with this specific envoy, and the increased fraternization between the two nations had drawn Demacian attention.

So naturally, Lux was sent in.

Her disguise was flawless as always; the slightly wrinkled hand she saw reaching for her glass and clutching a fancy fork for salads (or something) was undeniably perfect in its accuracy. And when Lux happened across the very rare mirror in the manor, the dull brown eyes and short black hair common to the people of Zaun betrayed no hint to the luminous blonde underneath the façade.

So far so good.

The dinner, she thought, had gone well also. She was well versed in idle chit chat, and supplied the appropriate 'mhm's' and 'ah's' to General Du Couteau's ramblings about the inefficiency of Noxian command and the ever looming threat of Demacia. She'd been so focused on the utter lack of incriminating evidence she was receiving and which fork she was supposed to be using for the chicken she was served that she almost missed the entry of another guest to the very small and slightly awkward soiree. Very clearly a man, he walked completely silently to the General's side, and spoke equally quietly into his ear. Lux couldn't help but fix her gaze onto the newcomer; he was the most interesting thing to happen in hours.

He had the strangest cloak wrapped around his body and draped down his back. It was a very deep purple, with black offsets. But the slight glinting of what could only be metal shone at the bottom of the cloak, where she found that there were indeed, several blades affixed to the garment.

Strange, but not outlandish considering Noxian standards of dress. She'd been staring at the dagger-like appendages to the man's cloak when the General's abnormally loud voice snapped her to attention.

"Nonsense, Talon! You'll join us for dinner."

Talon (strange name, but still not outlandish.) made it very clear with his stiff posture and refusal to move right away that he did not, in fact, want to stay for dinner, but complied and slumped into a seat across from Lux anyway. She focused her gaze on the ridiculous cutlery, but tried simultaneously to peek at Talon from her peripheral. Even straining her eyes, there wasn't much to see. A long cowl covered the top half of Talon's face and shrouded the rest in a dark shadow. He kept his hands tightly to his sides and his back completely straight, a posture so rigid Lux thought that if she stared at him too hard, he'd snap in half.

She would've kept staring, but the General called her name and focused her attention elsewhere. Still, as her gaze was finally leaving Talon, she noticed him shift almost imperceptibly in her direction.

The General had nothing terribly important to say, or nothing Demacian Command would care to hear about. Lux was beginning to feel that this mission was a complete waste of time and resources. She sighed, lowering her eyes to the food she'd only been picking at all night. That exhalation of breath caught Talon's attention, and she looked up in time to catch his gaze. Or rather, the shadow where his eyes should have been. Almost as if on cue, the General piped up.

"It's rude to cover your face at dinner, Talon. And you haven't greeted our guest."

Again Lux noticed the very slight, very unnoticeable tensing of the man's muscles, but again he obeyed. He lifted one hand and one finger to hook underneath his hood and pulled it back.

And that, Lux decided, is when she lost control of her mission.

What she had expected was someone similar in appearance to all the rest of Noxian Command; an aging, greying man with an ego almost as big as his bank account was sure to be. She was pleasantly surprised to be very, very wrong. Talon was undeniably attractive, with a straight jaw and very broody dark eyes girls would do backflips for. His lip was curled ever so slightly at the corner; there was the ego she had expected, but if she could discern anything from sitting across from this man for the past half hour, was that it was rightly earned. Talon was very imposing, what with the large stature, off putting persona and the fact that he literally dressed himself in blades.

Lux was very busy studying Talon's decidedly stunning facial features, so busy in fact that she didn't notice her own (sort of) face was slipping. It wasn't enough to warrant attention from anyone else in attendance to the dinner, but enough so that when Talon inexplicably chose that very moment to snap his gaze to hers, he could tell that the seemingly aged woman across from him was neither old nor the esteemed ambassador from Zaun.

Because for one split second, one slight lapse in attention, the woman's eyes had shone a brilliant, youthful blue, until she jerked in surprise and shifter her eyes to the food below her that she was steadily poking at with the wrong fork.

Talon squinted his eyes, trying to pick some other anomaly from the woman's clothes, eyes, anything, but before he could investigate too much she suddenly cleared her throat, announced "I'll be heading to the ladies room, excuse me.", and walked off without waiting for an answer. Her absence hadn't affected the party in any way, so most of the guests carried on as if she hadn't spoken.

Talon, however, sat stiffly in his chair (more so now, if that was possible.) and tried to very quickly mull this over.

Had he really seen the woman's disguise slip, or had he been mistaken? He was leaning more towards the former, and carried on with the thought. Who would she be, even if it was a disguise? What information could she possibly glean from a pointless, idle dinner party? And how on earth did she make the farce seem so convincingly real?

As Talon realized he could no longer hear the woman's heels clicking in the tiled hallway on her way to the bathroom, he lurched from his chair and from the room without explanation. He heard a door snap closed from a short distance away, and increased his pace to the only bathroom on that floor.

So as useless as the information would now be, Lux was still satisfied that she could pinpoint exactly where she had lost control. She realized that she was still painfully clutching her hair, and released the offended roots, standing and smoothing out the very plain and boring skirt that befitted an ambassador of her status. She gave herself a cursory glance in the frosted mirror that hung on the wall opposite from her. Although the image was unclear, she thought that everything seemed in order. She took a deep breath, silently congratulating herself for not getting caught, when she froze.

There was a knock on the door.


	6. Syndra short

Her magic swirled around her, pleasantly agitated.

The randomly sifting waves of dark magic coagulated into three spheres, slowing their revolutions around her to lazily float at eye level.

Syndra's mood matched theirs.

Though usually very active and diligent, she was currently slumped in her throne-like chair, chin propped on the heel of her hand, eyes unfocused. Her mind, however, was racing.

She had previously thought that in Ionia, she was the ranking threat. Public enemy number one. She made it her priority to keep an eye on the competition, so she was one of the first to know when the kinkou, the goody goody order of ninjas that stood for equilibrium or good posture or something was overthrown in less than a day, now currently run by a man who worshipped the shadows.

Ever in search to learn something someone else didn't know, Syndra took it upon herself to personally grace this new usurper with her presence.

From what she remembered, the temples that the old ninjas had favored remained largely the same. They were quiet, seemingly abandoned. A cliché flitted across her mind.

_Too_ quiet.

Unperturbed, Syndra left her position of floating above the ground in favor of walking, keeping her signature three spheres close around her. She walked along a shady path in darkness cast by a cherry tree, littered with fallen pink blossoms, until coming to a pause at the entrance to the head temple. There wasn't a door, which she took as an open invitation to walk inside.

In the darker, more confined space, her spheres grew in size and orbited around her slightly faster than before. She spun in a slow circle while carefully moving forward, taking in the simplistic décor and quaint wooden accents. All together, the temple was nice but rather boring. Syndra wondered if she had wasted her time.

Removing her gaze from the ceiling, it fell onto a throne much like her own, which when she first entered, had thought to be unoccupied. There was a man perched on the edge of the chair now, clothed in red and black fabrics, decked with armor that shined dully in the dimness of the temple. The mask he worse did little to conceal the burning brightness of his crimson eyes, quite reminiscent of her own lavender ones. She inclined her head, the corner of her mouth twitching into the slightest of smiles.

"I rather like what you've done with the place."

She remarked, pirouetting slowly again to take in the room. The man shifted in his chair, leaning his head against his hand, but said nothing.

" I take it the kinkou's décor was… not to your taste."

This earned a grunt from the otherwise silent ninja. He shifted his position once more, to perching his elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms.

"Syndra."

Although evidently unnatural, his voice was deep and pleasant. Her smile grew.

"And you are?

Although Syndra herself was focused on the man's response, her magic had picked up on something else. Quickly rotating once around her, they alerted her to the presence of several people that had silently and inexplicably entered the room. She surreptitiously glanced from the corner of her eyes to the corners of the room. Her spheres directed her gaze upwards. It was there, if you focused hard enough, that you could see several spots where the shadows were deepened and elongated. She almost widened her smile.

Shadow warriors, indeed.

As her eyes fell back towards the focal point of her attention, the man on the throne stood. The mask completely obscured any facial expression he might have, but Syndra decided he sounded… Pleased.

"My students."

He explained, gesturing lazily towards the walls. Saying nothing in response, his pupils silently left their positions. Her spheres assured her they were alone.

"Faithful and eternally useful. Akin to these, I'd venture."

He pointed with a gloved hand to her spheres, which rotated once before shrinking from existence. She grinned.

"You could say that."

Zed was attracted to power, so naturally he was drawn to Syndra. He'd heard about the Dark Sovereign's conquests, and watched, quite enraptured, and she boldly entered his seemingly deserted temple. True to form, she stayed unperturbed throughout her analysis. She'd even taken notice of the stealthiest of his students, earning a modicum of respect. And here she was, still clearly undaunted. He placed a hand on the small of her back, unprotected since the disappearance of her watchful spheres, and led her out of the darkened temple and into the sun, his strengthened shadow in pursuit.

"I am Zed. Between us both, we have much to learn."

Although sinister it might be in another situation, Syndra beamed.


	7. Kat short

"Too easy!"

Cass huffed, frowning at the gloating smile plastered on her sister's sweaty face. She squinted her eyes, nearly shut, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the glaring sun.

"I _told_ you Kat, I don't wanna play this game anymore!"

Katarina's smile twisted on her face, transforming into a grimace, marring her chubby cheeks. She stuck a hip out to her side, perching a stubby fist on the edge.

"You only don't play because you lose."

Cass threw down the wooden sword she had been disdainfully carrying. It clattered against the concrete, Cass's pink shoes making tiny versions of the same noise as she stomped off.

"I didn't want to play with you anyways!"

Kat yelled at her back, although she knew Cass was too far away to hear her. She kept up her exaggerated grimace until Cass disappeared inside the manor, then dropped painfully to the ground, sticking the heel of her hand against her cheek and crossing her legs. She sat there for hours, vaguely noticing the sun's shadow moving across the concrete as she traced irregular circle with her finger against the rough ground.

Sometime later, she paused in her aimless drawing to scratch at the old sunburn underneath the new sunburn that stained her skin, and peeled the flesh across her nose. She scratched until she was sure her nose was raw and half falling off, the pain adding to her misery.

It wasn't fair that Cassie wouldn't play with her. She was just a sore loser, is all. Maybe tomorrow would be different and Cassie wouldn't scowl at her when she showed up to her room, maybe she wouldn't storm off and make faces at her and call her names.

Maybe.

Kat had a hard time convincing herself that with a new day came a new person, and the downcast expression soured again. She huffed a sigh that hitched in her throat, rather painfully. She screwed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to trap there what she knew was coming.

Daddy had said that big girls, big strong girls never cried. He said weakness was for people unworthy of life itself.

Kat pressed harder against her eyes.

In an amazing feat of 8 year old strength, Kat kept herself from crying. She gave her eyes a few good rubs, then picked herself up off the ground and dusted her knees. She flicked her hair behind her shouldering, straightening her back and striding with renewed confidence towards the house.

Whether or not Cass would play with her or treat her differently didn't matter. Nothing mattered but being the best and the strongest. Not just the best and strongest that she could be, but the best in the whole Du Couteau family.

The best in Noxus!

Kat would show Cass and her Dad and everyone else just how strong she could be.

She'd show them all.


	8. ZedSyndra short

"At least try to explain."

Zed exhaled loudly, but not all together impatiently. He tried to pull the right words together to describe what his shadow was and what it meant to him, but it wasn't so simple.

Something Syndra was having a very hard time understanding.

"The shadow is… Me, essentially. We are one and the same. Without the shadow, I am not whole. We are physically separate entities, to a degree. But we need each other."

His words fell short, even to his own ears. Syndra shook her head, hair whipping slightly across her back.

"But you said you could control it, that you are superior to it. How can that be, if it is yourself?"

Again, Zed struggled for words. Never before had he had to deal with someone so… Nosy. At first, her questions had been easy to answer. But Syndra was smart, and Zed had never had to explain himself to anyone before. Her increasing inquisitions were getting more and more difficult to answer, without spending the entire day trying to explain.

He stood up from where he and Syndra had been sitting, half meditating in one of the quieter parts of the forest surrounding Zed's temples.

"I'm done with questions for today."

Syndra sprang after him, having to move considerably faster to catch up with him.

"You hardly even answered my question."

Zed tried to shoot her a scathing glare, forgetting again that she couldn't see past the mask. He settled for a dismissive wave of his hand, which Syndra had come to expect.

She was very good at frustrating the ninja into silence.

She caught the hand, pushing it the opposite way he had intended for it to go.

"I hate it when you do that."

Zed rolled his eyes solely for his benefit, retracting his hand.

"Is that so?" He intoned, voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

Syndra frowned at the mask, thinking not for the first time how annoying it was to be faced with a piece of metal, and not an actual face.

A face, she fully realized just now, she'd never seen before.

"Fine, forget what I said about the shadow. I've decided I don't care."

Zed threw up his hands, but kept his steady pace towards the temple.

"Now that that's settled."

"Far from it." Syndra retorted.

He chose not to reply.

"I have a different question."

He groaned, trying to increase his pace, hoping his longer legs and desire to be alone would help him leave Syndra behind. But she was persistent, as always.

"It's easy, I promise."

"No."

"Oh please," she practically whined. "It's much simpler than the last one. Even you could answer it, challenged as you are."

Zed said nothing. Syndra waited as patiently as she could, following him all the way back to one of the smaller temples that belonged exclusively to him. This is usually where she took her leave for the day, having never been invited inside and not feeling intrusive enough to enter herself. Today, however, she wanted answers. She picked a spot in the grass and rooted herself there, crossing her arms and refusing to move a muscle. Zed stll carefully kept his back to her, mimicking Syndra's stance.

Finally, he heaved a sigh, loosening his posture and rubbing the back of his neck.

"What?" he breathed. "What is it this time? I'm very tired, so don't take too lo-"

Syndra wasted no time in interrupting him.

"Why do you wear a mask?"

Zed moved his hand reflexively to his face, as if to rub tired eyes, his hand colliding slightly with the mask in question.

"It makes me look really scary."

The earlier sarcasm that had colored his voice fell flat. He turned to face her.

"Oh haha." Syndra smirked, waving her hand through the air. "Very scary, you got me. What is it really?"

He laughed, and the sound was very, very sad.

"No special reason, really. You're overthinking it."

Syndra screwed up her face, returning her arms to their crossed position on her chest.

"Then take it off."

She knew immediately she'd made a mistake, from the way he stiffened so quickly.

"It's time for you to leave."

And without another word, he left her there, outside his room, knowing she screwed up but also knowing there was nothing she could do to fix it. She stood there a moment longer, then did as she was told, and left.

It was weeks before she saw Zed again, several long weeks that weighed heavily on her mind. And while she waited for Zed to forgive her enough to speak to her again, she had plenty of time to consider what he'd said about his shadow that day.

She thought she understood now, how you could be separate from someone but still one and the same.


	9. Cass short

Cass hissed in frustration, pelting yet another necklace at the wall.

The jewelry in question shattered on impact, shiny pearls scattering across the already littered floor. She screamed low in her throat, twisting around to face her mirror again. Her eyes, normally so captivating in their beauty, were puffy and bloodshot. Her flawless skin was blotchy and streaked with tears. She raised one finger, carefully pulling at the bottom lid of her left eye. She tugged, released. It slowly snapped back into place, remaining as puffy and irritated as before. Cass's fury grew.

She whipped around to her bed, where every article of clothing and piece of jewelry she owned was sprawled against the duvet, in no particular order. She grabbed the closest thing to her – a clearly expensive, expertly handmade silk dress that matched the green of her eyes – and ripped at it with her new claws, effectively reducing the garment to nothing but pricey shreds of silk.

Her anger had not ebbed.

She methodically tore through the rest of her clothes, ripping them apart and discarding the sad remains in irregular heaps on the floor. She was about halfway through alternating between throwing her jewelry out the window or against the wall when she lifted a ring her mother had given her. She paused, considering, and her anger magically and immediately dissipated, leaving nothing but a broken and destroyed girl behind.

She clutched the rung to her chest, between her claws, trying not to cry for the umpteenth time that day. Her tear filled eyes fell on the sad remains of all her possessions, so carelessly strewn across the floor. She lifted two handfuls of shredded cloth from where they lay, and pressed them against her cheek, her tears spilling over and onto the ruined shreds.

Cass was utterly miserable. Her clothes and jewelry and beauty were all that defined her. She was supposed to be the most beautiful Du Couteau, the enchantress that Noxus prized. But now she has nothing. She was confined to the dark, contained in her room with her self-loathing and overwhelming self-pity. Her clothes didn't fit her, her jewelry didn't nothing to alleviate the defects she was now inflicted with.

She was disgusting.

She climbed shakily onto her bed, now devoid of colorful and soft fabrics and curled in on herself, wrapping her tail clumsy around the bottom of the bed.

Her _tail_. She still hadn't gotten used to it, despite dragging it around for more than a week now. It was pretty enough, she supposed, if it wasn't attached to a human body. The scales running down its length were shimmery and shined in even the faintest of light, in every shade of green you could imagine and then some. But it was heavy, and made an unsettling scraping noise when she slithered across the floor. And it was a horrific aberration; Cass had carefully hidden herself away from the staff members that littered her household, ever grateful that Katarina was still away on some assignment. She was sure that when people found out that the famous Du Couteau beauty had turned into a hideous beast, she would be mercilessly executed.

Perhaps they'd even make her sister do it, in the name of Noxus.

She whimpered again, clenching her hands and flinching when her new claws cut into her delicate palms.

She still hadn't gotten used to that.

And it crossed her mind, for what seemed like the thousandth time that week, if she ever would.

Eventually Cass fell asleep, and was startled awake by the vibrations in the floor that when she was human, would never have been able to feel. She dragged the tip of her tail that she had let carelessly drop onto the floor back onto her bed, groaning and closing her eyes. She spent the day in and out of sleep, exhausted from her extended outburst the day before.

The moon was hanging high in the sky the next time Cass was awoken. She was incredibly groggy, the cold night air stilling her movements and muddying her mind.

There was a knock on the door.

"Cass, open up. I'm not asking again."

Despite the cold making her sluggish, Cass immediately sat up straight, scrambling to pull the blankets around her and over her tail. Evidently she wasn't moving fast enough, because what seemed like seconds later the door flew open and Kat let herself into the room.

Cass looked up in dismay; she hadn't even been close to being able to cover the enormous tail spread across her bed.

Kat dropped the backpack the had slung across her shoulder and ran to the bed, kneeling by Cass's head.

"Cassiopeia, what did you do? What happened?"

She placed on hand on Cass's face, the other reaching out to touch one of the many scales adorning the top of her tail.

"Oh Kat…"

She sobbed. "I don't know! It was a man, from Freljord. He tricked me! And now I'm hideous and they're going to kill me and-"

The expression on Kat's face stopped Cass mid-sentence. She was murderously angry.

"Who's going to kill you? Who said that?"

Cass actually felt a little sheepish.

"Well no one, exactly, but I figured that when everyone found out…"

Her weak explanation puttered out lamely, sounding sad to her own ears.

"They'd be fools to try. _Dead_ fools."

Cass sniffed delicately, allowing a very small smile to tug at her lips for the first time in nearly two weeks.

"But Kat, I can't live like this… I'm a monster! What am I supposed to do?"

Katarina shifted her position on the floor, from her knees to the balls of her feet, and clasped Cass's claws in her hands.

"I will help you fix this, I swear it."

And right then, Cass almost felt beautiful again.


	10. Orianna short

She was confused.

Technically, she understood the situation. It was a trivial human emotion, was most were, that she had become well versed in since joining the league; flirtation.

Her mind whirred, quickly going through the logged scenarios in which flirtation occurred. It was typically a weightless, ineffectual expressing of emotion passed between any given subjects, usually used to alleviate tension or express another, underlying emotion.

Technically, understandable.

Yet the subjects she now observed had such a way of parading this flirtation that confused their fellow humans into thinking that they, in fact, were _not_ flirting, but expressing a mutual dislike.

Curious.

Orianna turned back to her archives in search of a more substantial bit of information on the subject at hand. Again she relayed the scene she was currently scanning and recording for future reference against her previously stored data. The intent of the exercise, she determined, was the same. Still she could not quite understand how it came to be pair before her, equal counterparts from opposite nations, was as unlikely a match as any.

Strange, but Orianna digressed.

Although bizarre in the pairing, they very clearly meshed well together. Orianna could tell that the sparring (very trivial, she had deduced, after several weeks of careful research and consideration) the two engaged in was very real, and that both parties physically showed no signs of unfairly giving the other a disadvantage.

Or advantage, if her theory proved correct.

Even from her forcedly robotic opinion on the matter, Orianna could still appreciate the grace the two seemed to create. Although significantly more violent and decidedly more seductive, the practice fights clashed with some of her previous memories, the ones from before her muse's death. They were very cloudy, clearly unreliable memories of the late Orianna dancing. Very light on her feet and incredibly elegant, Orianna had commanded the same attention and created the same grace dancing that her subjects were now executing with calculated violence.

Interesting.

Besides the seemingly choreographed jabs and kicks and such, both partners were wasting precious oxygen needed to fuel their death match to taunt each other. Orianna pondered this. Although phrases like 'Noxian who-', which had been cut off with a small dagger whizzing dangerously close to a jugular vein, and 'brainwashed Demacian' meant nothing to her and elicited no unhappy response to her personally, Orianna knew they were intended to be insults. But with the carelessness in which they were thrown from one combatant to the other, she knew they carried no weight and were never intended to maim.

Frustrating.

Typically, humans were simple to understand, and Orianna prided herself on being a self proclaimed expert of the weak affairs of their emotion driven lives. So being unable to immediately discern the motive of such a seemingly harmless behavior pitched her in quite a sour mood. For a robot.

Was it possible that these two complete opposites were so forcibly different, as to actually turn them into corresponding pieces? That the social standards and petty politics that many had thought were enough to separate them forever, had actually made them a perfect match? She tilted her head to the side, placing her hand on the ball that floated by her side. At her touch, the ball bobbed in place, making quiet, mechanical noises as if in assent.

Success.

The theory clicked nicely into Orianna's collected data and subsequent evaluation. She had overlooked the obvious attraction between her subjects at first, like so many other humans. But she was not human.

And Garen and Katarina were not fooling her.


	11. Riven short

She could hear nothing.

She knew that she should be deafened by her surroundings: the desperate screams of the dying, the explosions that rocked the earth beneath her, her own panting breath, clawing at her throat. But she was not. A low, quiet ringing in her ears was all she audibly registered. Her eyes, however, processed a nightmare.

Scared, dying people scrambled over the hilltop she was on. There was a thick, shallow miasma of green fog that clung to the calves of the fleeing soldiers, slowly creeping along the grass, oblivious to the chaos. Riven's confused focus narrowed in on one person in particular; an Ionian soldier, evident from the light armor and dark hair. The man stumbled, and then fell to his knees, simultaneously clawing at his throat. His eyes bulged, his complexion darkened, and he fell, twitching, to the poisonous earth beneath him. She watched the man jerk and writhe until she gasped, suddenly aware that she was dizzy, dangerously low on oxygen. She tried to haul herself up, clutching the grip of her rune sword for balance. The fog around her seemed to be holding her to the toxic earth, grabbing her legs, beckoning her to stay. Drawing on strength she didn't have, she pulled herself up, shakily, unsteadily, to her feet.

From a higher vantage point, the destruction around her was all the more devastating; she averted her gaze, instead focusing on her blistered and bleeding hands atop the hilt of her sword.

'Away', she thought. 'Get me away'.

Her bleary gaze, unfocused by stinging and unshed tears, flitted to the tree line at the bottom of the hill. The chemical fog seemed thinnest there, hardly reaching past the first of the scrubby underbrush. Encouraged by the moans of the dying, Riven yanked her sword from the earth with the last vestiges of her strength, and began the arduous limp to the forest. She could hardly feel her feet; sweat dripped into her eyes, the light breeze stung her blistered skin, her poisoned mind unable to comprehend anything other than getting away, far, far away from the hell that was that hill.

A few steps from where she had risen, Riven tripped on nothing but the phantom fog, and rolled the rest of the way down the hillock. She crashed into every uneven surface on the way, bruising her already horribly battered body. Upon coming to a stop, Riven groaned, then gasped in terror as her ears stopped ringing and the full cacophony of the war around her assaulted her ears.

The screams were all she was able to focus on.

The animalistic, tortured, utterly inhuman screeches that emanated from the wounded and damned tore at Riven's ears, her consciousness, her sanity. She grabbed roughly at her offended ears, clawing at them and whimpering feebly in an attempt to block out the sound of death and destruction. Ironically, the saving grace to the torture of sound was another concussion, another explosion of fire and green smoke that rocked the world around Riven, setting her ears to ringing again. Riven uncurled from her cramped position, releasing her ears. She had time to notice a new wave of thick, cloying smog rolling over the hill top before instinct took over and she bolted from her spot on the ground, stopping only to grab her sword and then scrambling on ruined legs to the safety of the forest. With the asphyxiated brain, shell shocked consciousness and exhausted body, Riven was hardly able to keep her eyes open as she crashed through the beginnings of the dark woods, tree branches and thorns halting her progress and ruining her further.

She didn't know how long it was before she tripped on something unseen in the darkness. All she knew was the burning her breathing caused, her stinging eyes, the agony in her muscles as she pleaded with gods she didn't believe in to give her the strength to get away. She careened in the inky blackness of the woods, and collided heavily and ungracefully with the earth. She tried to stand up again, to keep going. She fought to live and failed, deciding that the darkness that was creeping slowly and steadily through her mind, the darkness that dulled her pains and quieted the screaming she could still hear echoing in her brain was preferable to the torture that Riven knew as life.

Riven closed her eyes and gave up, mouth too twisted by poison to smile at the relief.

"But those were his own troops. It doesn't make any sense. "

Irelia kept her gaze focused on the table in front of her, carefully studying the shadow her fist cast against the wood. Karma shrugged, her shoulders stiff.

"It does, if you think about it. The fallout from the chemical weapons devastated us. What's one troop of soldiers in comparison to winning the entire invasion?"

Irelia remained stubborn in her belief, shaking her head.

"Don't you know who that is in there? "She asked, jerking her thumb towards the back of the house.

"She's not just some soldier, or a casualty Noxus can afford. She _is_ Noxus."

Karma sighed.

"I've long since given up hope on ever understanding anything Noxus does. All I know is the location of the chemical attack was precisely where Riven was and no one was ever sent to retrieve her squad. Noxus wanted her dead, Irelia. To win the invasion."

Irelia turned on her heel and stomped out of the room, clearly unsatisfied with being proven wrong. Karma watched her go, waiting a few minutes until she was sure Irelia wasn't coming back, and then retiring to her own room.

And all of this, Riven listened to in absolute silence. A few moments ago, she wasn't even sure who she was, where she was, why she was here, why everything_ hurt_. And now, she was faced with being betrayed by the country she lived and, apparently, died for.

Riven wasn't sure if she couldn't breathe because of her ruined lungs, or because she had nothing left to breathe for.

She stayed in that unfamiliar bed for the rest of the night, unable to move and unwillingly to think. Sleep was not merciful enough to grace her with its presence, so she sat and tried to count all the different places on her body that hurt.

She had hardly catalogued half the pains that plagued her when she heard someone, whoever had saved her, she guessed, stop outside the door to her room. Riven quickly snapped her eyes shut, not bothering to adjust her breathing to feign sleep since it was so ragged and uneven anyway.

One of the women she heard talking last night, she guessed, maneuvered her hand under Riven's head, tilting her head forward. She placed a cup against Riven's chapped lips, tilting slightly, just enough to wet them.

Riven couldn't help herself; her mouth opened wider, allowing the woman to pour the rest of the cup's contents slowly into her mouth. Whatever it was, the liquid was cool and smooth and almost instantly quelled the fire that had been Riven's throat. She lifted a blistered hand, pushing the cup upwards and downing the rest of what was inside. The woman moved the empty cup away from her face, placing a hand on Riven's chest and gently pushing her back down towards the bed.

"You're very injured. Please rest."

Riven was only too happy to comply, the mystery liquid soothing her pains but dragging down her eyelids, pushing her closer and closer towards sleep.

Riven had no way of knowing had much time had passed since she fell asleep. Judging by the lack of pain and gummy way her eyes and mouth felt when she opened them, it had been a significant amount. She tried to take in her surroundings, but everything that wasn't bathed in the slight glow of the moon shining through a single, small window, was shrouded in absolute darkness.

She tried to think.

Judging from what she had heard whenever she was last awake, and the fact that the room she was in was actually comfortable, she was still in Ionia.

Which meant she was in big trouble.

She had to leave, she knew, but she couldn't go back to Noxus. She didn't think she could really go to any well-known city; her face and reputation were quite infamous. She was starting to panic, evident in the way her breathing hitched and stuttered even though she hadn't moved yet.

Which, at this moment, seemed like the best thing to do.

She paused to listen to the house around her; she couldn't hear anything, no sign of anyone else being in the house with her. She then gingerly, oh so carefully, swung one leg over the side of her bed. Besides a slight tugging on skin that felt a lot tighter than usual, Riven felt fine. Nothing was burning and nothing was blistered. She threw the other leg after the first, trying to increase her speed now that she had assessed the damage (or lack thereof) sustained to her limbs.

She carefully placed both feet onto the wooden floor, and padded silently to the door. She put her ear against the door; absolute silence. She twisted the knob, swinging it open slowly, heart beating almost painfully in her chest. She slunk from the door down a very short hallway, darker than the room she had left. She paused at the end, slowly easing her face around the corner.

The hallway was connected to a small sitting room, devoid of chairs and decorated only by one small table surrounded by cushions. It was empty. Deciding once and for all that she was, indeed, alone, Riven stood up and almost ran for the door on the opposite side of the living room. She yanked the door open, jogging into the night.

She wasn't sure what, exactly, made her stop and hesitate, and to turn back to the house, but she was never happier that she did. Leaning against the house, glinting very dimly in the moon's light, was her beloved rune sword. She paused to grab it, once more stopping to listen to the night around her, then sprinted away into the forest from where she had come, once so close to death.

It never felt so good to be free.

Days later, Riven was still confined to the forests of Ionia. She'd been trying to plan out her next move, where she could go, what place left in this world that would want and accept her.

She was having a very tough time coming up with answers.

This had left her plenty of time to dwell on how she ended up here in the first place. The women she had heard talking, they said that Singed did this. That he had orchestrated the attack centered around Riven's unit. That Noxian command had allowed it.

That by simply being in proximity to her, Riven's squad had died painfully and slowly.

The injustice and shame burned worse than anything Singed could ever inflict on her.

She sat alone in a forest that was altogether unfamiliar to her, stranded in a country that she had helped invade. And she knew, beyond a doubt, that Noxus was in the wrong. That she had fought on the wrong side, had murdered for corrupt people and broken ideals. Her squad didn't deserve to their fates. Ionia didn't deserve to be ruined.

She didn't deserve to live, when everyone else had died.

She stared at her rune sword, the only thing she had left in the world. The perfect reminder of where she came from and the only thing she was good for; death and destruction.

Riven grabbed the hilt of her sword, dragging it through the forest until she found was she was looking for.

She lifted the sword, high enough for it to catch the slim light that filtered through the dense canopy above her. It was beautiful, really. The green runes were always slightly alight, the craftsmanship was impeccable, and the metal it was forged from was perfect in every way.

Riven lifted it just slightly higher, adjusting her grip, then swung it downwards, smashing the sword against the rock she'd found below.

The sword shattered, the sound of a million shards of metal being wrenched apart a magnificent melody to Riven's weary and shamed ears. Never again would the sword kill. Never again would she be controlled, used as a tool and a weapon.

And for the first time in her life, Riven truly felt right.


	12. Vel'koz short

There wasn't a single physical thing in this world that Vel'Koz couldn't see

He could tell you, if he were so inclined, the number of atoms in your hand, what the sun's rays looked like in wavelengths, how the muscles in your arms looked when you twitched, all the places in Noxus that housed spies and all the soldiers in Demacia that snuck away from their barracks at night. He could tell you exactly how many people there were on the forsaken planet the void had spit him out on, down to the very last meat bag.

But he couldn't tell you how their minds worked.

Vel'koz had no difficulty examining the chemicals these human's brains produced, the synapses that that fueled their very thoughts and reactions. But he couldn't pinpoint what exactly defined each person. What made, for example, one person chose to valiantly die for their country, not a doubt in their mind about the right of it, but made another run in terror, shame fueling his retreat?

What made some people nasty where others were helpful, sadistic and cruel where others were gentle and kind?

He'd made interesting discoveries during his experiments, but none so far had earned him any insight towards this curious conundrum. Dissection proved inconclusive, interrogation only left him with more unanswered questions. The nuances that made up human nature, it seemed, were not easily found.

But he was determined.

He made sure he had a variety of new subjects for his next set of experiments. Males, females, old, young, nice and mean and generous. He had them all. Vel'Koz studied them night and day, for hours on end; he took careful mental notes about the personalities and subtle differences that defined one's attitude from another. He watched them eat, sleep, and interact. The first part of the experiment was arduous and uncomfortable for him; but he had to know everything about his subjects.

And he did.

He knew that one cried every night but that the rest sulked in silence, he knew that one female was sensitive to tasting salt in her foods, that some used to donate their spare time to the needier of the humans while others spent it working and sleeping. He was satisfied with the insight he'd gained. It was time to begin experimentation.

The female that preferred salt.

Specific dissection of the tongue and gustatory complex revealed that it was biological, not her nature, to crave sodium; an aberration in her taste buds.

The man who cried at night, was more difficult; a slight enlargement of the amygdala.

These distinctions, Vel'koz could attribute to physical differences. But they were not the answers he was looking for, because he still couldn't tell you why the older female preferred to help those she deemed needy, and the younger males scoffed at the notion. No matter how many dissections and interrogations he subjected them to, Vel'koz could still not see. Human nature frustrated him immensely, but he would not give up. The void had sent him here, and he would succeed. He always did.

He needed new subjects.


	13. ZedSyndra short 2

"Balance is weakness."

Syndra rolled her eyes.

"It isn't, really. You need balance to have control. Absolute control is absolute power."

"Control is not balance."

Syndra collapsed backwards, falling heavily onto the throw cushions that littered the divan she was on. She spread her arms to her sides, huffing a sigh.

"You're too narrow minded." She complained to the ceiling.

She heard Zed shift in his chair off to her right, but he said nothing. He'd long since learned that an extended argument with Syndra usually ended with him very exasperated and very wrong. He slid a hand under his mask to rub his eyes, the exasperation already setting in.

Syndra let her head loll to the side to look at him, view partially obscured by one of the many pillows. He hadn't noticed her looking yet, and she took the opportunity to stare unabashedly at the sliver of his face he'd let show. She frowned. It wasn't much to go on. She tried adjusting her view, tilting her head just a little more to the left…

There.

A scar, on the left edge of his jaw. Quite large, as far as scars went, and she couldn't see where it started or where it ended. She couldn't comfortable twist to see better, but curiosity gripped her. She'd begun reaching her hand out, almost unconsciously, to figure out where it was this mystery scar led to, when he stopped rubbing his eyes and put the mask back into place. She jerked her hand back to her side, nearly hitting her own face in the process. Zed tilted his head to the side.

"What is it?" He sounded rather bemused at her sudden clumsiness.

"Nothing, nothing." She waved her hand with the words.

"Tell me." Maybe slightly less bemused now.

"You really want to know?" She tried to keep the smile off her face, not all together succeeding.

"Yes." Getting impatient now.

"Are you sure?"

He sighed heavily, but refused to give in again. Syndra dropped her smile, and moved her finger to trace a line across her left jaw.

"This." She said, using the same finger to point at his face.

He remained quiet. She waited.

"It's just a scar." He explained flatly. "One of many."

He held out an arm as evidence, uncovered today. He was right, about many; several lines were spread and crossed along the muscles of his forearms, biceps, wrists, everywhere.

She was unsatisfied with the response.

"Why do you only cover one?"

He laughed, the sound very different from his usual, albeit relatively rare laughter. He sounded nervous, an expression she'd never seen on him before.

"The mask is for anonymity. It helps us focus on training, and to avoid distractions. Much like yourself."

Syndra rolled her eyes, the pathetic response actually offending her. By now, she'd thought he would have realized that it was pointless to lie to her, since it'd never worked before.

"The other ninjas take theirs off. Only you keep it on. I didn't know you were so easily distracted, O Master of Shadows."

His only reaction was a quiet chuckle, nervous like before. She switched positions, to perching her chin on her fists, lying on her stomach. Zed leaned away from her, uncomfortable with the proximity.

"I am much more than the other ninjas."

She chose to ignore the statement, focusing instead on the mask.

That damn mask.

She made up her mind, before reason could stay her hand. She removed one hand from underneath her chin, spreading the fingers and reaching out to Zed's face.

Slowly.

He didn't move, not when she first moved her hand and not when her fingers pressed against the mask, brushing the sides. Syndra pressed her palm against the spot where Zed's cheek would be, waiting. Still no movement. She took a deep breath, steadied her hand, moved it slightly to the side.

And slowly, ever so carefully, Syndra took off the mask.


	14. Zyra short

Jobs usually didn't take him to such strange places.

He didn't know how stealing blueprints for some hextech thing or another ended up with him in the forest, but hey. Money is money. And hell knows he could use more of it.

Still, the forest was creepy.

"Did it have to be a night job?"

He could hardly see anything; the flashlight he had with him did little to pierce the inky darkness. Sure enough, he had just enough light to unsettle him. The canopy was all twisted tree limbs curved into hands, clawing the sky and dipping below as if to snatch people off the path. The path itself was overgrown and thin, twisting between gnarled tree trunks decked with thorns and vines. He tried not to look off the path; the scarce light he had seemed to be reflecting off too many things to be natural. The air was just as thin as the roots that snatched at his feet, and sharp when he inhaled. The air felt wrong, somehow… Underneath the stench of rotting plants was something else, something decidedly more sinister.

The man shook his head, berating himself. The _air_ was sinister, sure. He chuckled at his foolishness, but increased his pace anyway, tightening his arms around himself.

The night dragged on very slowly, or so he thought. Was he on the right path? He didn't want to stop for the night in the middle of the forest, and he was too far to turn back. He silently cursed his employer.

He was busy trying to peer through the veil of darkness, searching for any sign that he was nearing the edge of the forest, when he was yanked roughly to the earth below him. He couldn't move his legs; using his puny flashlight, he flicked the beam downwards to reveal thick, thorny vines constricting his ankles. He tugged at his feet again, but that only seemed to anger the plants, who twisted tighter.

He reached around himself to grab the backpack strung across his shoulders; he knew he had a knife in there somewhere. He rummaged through the contents, around the blueprints until finally locating the knife with his finger. He swore, shaking the digit that flung small droplets of blood onto the vines below.

And just like that, his feet were free.

He stared, stunned, as the plants that had been vehemently gripping his legs slithered through the leaves that littered the ground and off the path, into the darkness.

He kept staring, until he realized his mouth was still open.

It was then that he heard a very quiet noise in the forest off to his left. Was that… Crying? He swallowed passed the lump in his throat, too paralyzed to move for a moment. But there it was again, so lilting and strange..

He had to find it.

He stumbled forwards on his hands and knees until he was off the path, stopping only once to stand once he was inside the tree line. It was so different there, so dark and comforting… He continued forward with a smile on his face, the crying still beckoning him forward and the air brushing slowly passed his face, caressing it. He was so close, the crying, it was right there…

There! In the smallest of openings in the trees, a small woman, hunched in on herself and still weeping. Despite the cloudiness in his head, the man almost tripped forward, holding out a hand in an effort to help.

"Miss, are you alone? Do you have any friends you came here with? Where are they?"

The woman shuddered, her frail shoulders shaking mightily.

And then she turned around.

A twisted, wicked grin stretched across her face, her eyes glinting sickeningly in what little light there was. She was covered in thorns that refused to scratch her skin, thorns that writhed in the ground around her, lifting and encircling her.

Caressing.

And he realized, not crying.

Laughing.

She was laughing at him.

She giggled again, the sound increasing the confusion that gripped his mind and whipping the foliage around them into a frenzy of unnatural movement. He tried to track the vines that flitted here and there but his eyes saw double, triple, his mind was so slow, so slow… And she commanded his attention, what little there was, but he tried to resist… The gaze of the weak returned to her.

"Where are_ your_ friends? Mine are all around."


	15. IreliaKarma short, Chp 11 Cont

"She isn't there."

Of course. Of _course_ she was gone. Because if she was here, where she was supposed to be, Irelia's job would be easy. She wouldn't have to explain to her higher ups how she managed to lose a bedridden, injured survivor of a biological war. She wouldn't have to explain how she would end up searching the forest for days, finding nothing but what she assumed was half of Riven's broken sword.

But Irelia didn't sign up for easy.

"You were supposed to be watching her."

Irelia tried to sound accusing, but when directing the tone at someone like Karma, it was nearly impossible.

She didn't even shrug.

"It was not our place."

This, though, helped fuel Irelia's growing frustration. Her blades twitched.

"She was the spearhead of the Noxian invasion, and Command's lapdog. With her here we wouldn't have to worry about Noxus and we could stop watching our backs. Ionia would be safe!"

In a way unique to Karma, she did not move and her placid face revealed no emotion.

"They betrayed her, Irelia. You know was well as I, she does not associate herself with Noxus any longer. By all that is right, she is forgiven."

Irelia paced the small living in the house that used to hold Riven, and that she and Karma shared. Her work boots were loud against the wood floors; she vaguely wondered if she was scratching it. She dug her fingers into her, panic and frustration prompting her to pull it out. The blades shuddered and pressed themselves flat against her back.

Deep breaths.

She loosened her hold, smoothing her hair and confining her hands to her hips. Her blades loosened their position.

"How can you forgive what she's done?"

Karma moved only her eyes; piercing green eyes that took hold of Irelia and carried what she said with the weight of the world.

"Riven will be back, and when she is, she will explain to you all you need to know. But everyone deserves another chance, Irelia. I should think that point would be readily obvious, to you especially."

Karma never said anything viciously, but her words still cut her and left her face burning with chagrin, blades dipping low behind her. Karma calmly took her leave, sliding the door open silently and slipping outside, leaving Irelia to her thoughts.

She tried to see it from Karma's view, as impossible as it was. It was true that Riven was set up, that her commanding officers had sent her to war with the specific intention of murdering her and her squad for a better chance at victory. As beloved by her country as she was, Riven became nothing more to them than a means to an end. Irelia tried to envision what it would be like if Ionia, what she lived and died and lived again for, could so easily slaughter her and her soldiers to ensure the slaughter of others.

She felt sick.

She knew now, that Riven would never go back to Noxus. She knew, like Karma said, the guilt she felt that weighed down here every step would drive her back to them, in search of absolution. She knew that when the time came, Irelia would give it to her. Karma was right.

Because put in her position, Irelia knew she would be right alongside Riven, begging the forgiveness that would set her free.


	16. Akali short

Akali hadn't been this happy since her mother had died.

It was the kind of day that she liked most; calm and breezy, very light and relaxed. The kind that had never seen strife or worry, one that made you forget there ever could be. Akali lived for these rare days.

She liked to have the time for herself, but those few days she could spend with Shen… They were something else entirely.

She knew that their time together was different for her than for him, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. Shen was calm and intelligent, and liked most to indulge Akali when she bombarded him with questions. Naturally, she was a very curious person.

On this particular day, Akali was feeling a bit more brave than usual. The two were reclining in the garden reserved for her, Shen, and Kennen, Shen meditating and Akali watching the sky. She'd run through a litany of "what if" scenarios to Shen, carefully contemplating his most recent answer.

"You'd really rather be covered in spiders than in snakes?"

Shen smiled, eyes still closed.

"They're really very small. Nothing to be afraid of."

Akali shuddered, imagining hundreds of tiny spider legs tiptoeing across her skin. Her curiosity, for the moment, was sated. However, her attention was quick to wander.

She'd drawn countless pictures in the clouds, examined every bird that flew by and every leaf that fell from the trees around her. She tilted her head to the left, realizing she was rather close to the trunk of one of the cherry trees.

Trees, spiders…

She inched farther to her right.

Letting her head fall that way, her nose almost came into contact with Shen's knee. Instead of moving away, she propped her head up on her hand, staring at Shen's incredibly serene face.

She'd found something new to spark her curiosity.

His breathing was perfectly even, chest rising and falling at exact intervals. His eyes didn't move, his muscles didn't move. Very deep in meditation.

"Is there something on my face?"

Or so she thought. She looked away, ignoring how warm her cheeks had gotten.

"Spiders!"

She wiggled her fingers in his direction, earning a quiet laugh. Normally, she would have kept quiet after that, but the very air that day seemed to be edging her on.

"Just appreciating the view."

Shen opened one eye just a slit, just for a moment, to peer at Akali.

"It's very beautiful in the garden today."

Akali's mouth twitched just slightly in unhappiness. She moved back to her earlier position, arms out to the side and eyes on the sky.

"I suppose."

He gestured around them.

"The sky, the trees, the birds…" Eyeing each in turn. He took a rather loud breath.

"You."

Akali practically choked on the air she was trying to inhale. She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, meeting his for a moment. She returned her gaze to the sky, heart beating slightly faster now.

Shen laughed.

"I was under the impression that's what you wanted to hear. Forgive my forwardness."

Deep breaths. Swallow. One more breath. She closed her eyes, willing herself to speak.

"I've waited a very long time to hear it. But I'd rather you say it because you mean it, not because I want you to."

Shen laughed again, that quiet chuckle that made her stomach flutter.

"I assure you," he said, and she felt the faintest brush of a hand sweep away the hair that covered her cheek.

"I mean it."


	17. Draven-ishSyndrazed (Hella fluff)

Draven had a penchant for showy things.

His clothes, his friends, his preferred styles of murder. Even his girlfriends.

Finding a lady friend had always been difficult for Draven; it wasn't an easy thing to shoulder an ego made for two. Unsurprisingly enough, though, in Noxus, an ostentatious girl was easy enough to find. He'd taken out every enchantress, nobleman's daughter, every pretty girl in fancy clothes. Noxian woman were perfect for him; loud, gaudy, and complete airheads.

Well except for that one redhead, but that wasn't the point.

Unfortunately, you could only take out the same girl so many times before splashy became mundane, and soon Draven had a problem. One his brother had inadvertently solved for him.

The League.

The day Draven joined the League was the best day of his life. Literally- babes everywhere. He couldn't ask for flashier, more resplendent women; they wore armor and wings, carried weapons and instruments.

Hell, half of them weren't even human. It was perfect.

Draven wasted no time in trying to secure one for himself; unfortunately, it proved rather difficult. The blonde archer was apparently married (can you believe it? He didn't even see a ring.). The fox girl just laughed, the duelist sneered and stalked off. Demacians were off limits and no one from Noxus would give him the time of day. Even the Ionians (although a little too quiet for his tastes) seemed unaffected by him.

But not one particular Ionian, and he used the term loosely.

It was love at first sight. She had the long hair, rocking body, a god complex that nearly dwarfed his own. He couldn't understand why Syndra wasn't more of a hit with the other champions; she was easily his favorite.

He hadn't even met her yet.

After a particularly brutal match against her (she murdered and laughed in tandem, it was glorious.) he decided that enough was enough and today was the day. He tracked her down in the mess hall of sorts, taking one of the many available seats next to her. She smiled at him, rather coyly he though.

"Can I help you?"

He grinned wolfishly.

"Oh I'm sure you could help me with a lot of things. You could start by fixing this itty bitty problem I have…"

She tilted her head, white hair cascading over one bare shoulder. It was rather distracting.

"And that would be…?"

He didn't even bother to look up.

"Well you see, this weekend, Sona's throwing that concert right? It just so happens I have an extra ticket."

Syndra reached out one delicate hand and one delicate finger, sliding it under Draven's chin and tilting his head up.

"Much better." She said, the same coy grin stretched across her face. It only lasted a moment longer before turning into a sultry pout, her bottom lip sticking out.

"But I'm afraid I can't make it."

Draven wasn't worried.

"Come on, babe. You'll love it."

The pout remained, although it sljghtly more resembled a smirk now.

"Prior commitment. They'd kill me if I fell through."

He leaned across the table, dangerously near to those purple eyes.

"For me?"

His breath nearly stopped when she tilted even closer, nose just touching his.

"Sorry. Really."

She breathed the words, and it was honey and lavender and everything he wanted. His eyes had just started to close, leaning forward in anticipation, when the sweet smell was gone, replaced by very cold air.

"Sorry, gotta run!"

He opened his eyes in time to see Syndra being dragged almost roughly from the room by a man even bigger than he was, dressed all dark and creepy. Syndra waggled her fingers at him once before turning back around and threading her free arm through the one her captor still had around her wrist, nearly skipping after him. Draven sighed, quite unhappily.

Damn Ionians.

Zed didn't say anything until they got back to the room he had at the institute, and by then Syndra had almost started to get worried.

Almost.

He kept his grip on her wrist the whole way there, and she kept her arm through his, trying to silently and very subtly mollify him. She didn't think it was working.

They arrived at his room and he wasted no time in shoving her through the door, following closely behind her and immediately pressing her against the wall.

Normally, this would excite her. In the present light… Not so much.

"Sona's performing at a concert, did you hear?"

His only response was to press her even closer to the wall, now pinning her arms against the left wall in one hand.

"I'd have to tell Draven I can't go with him, but I guess I wouldn't mind going with you instead."

He leaned his forehead against hers; in all the excitement, it seems he forgot the mask.

Syndra decided she didn't want to talk anymore.

She parted her lips just slightly, trying to close the distance between them, but he kept just out of reach; noses touching, but lips never quite close enough.

Maddeningly tantalizing.

He slid his free hand over her hip and across her ribs, letting it rest at the crook of her neck. His thumb traced small lines, back and forth, against her bottom lip.

Syndra was sure she was going insane.

Once more she tried to close the distance, and once more he kept her at bay. His thumb stopped moving and she took the opportunity to chew on her bottom lip.

He paused, considering.

"I didn't know normal men were so to your tastes."

His breath washed slowly over her face, her lips. She couldn't remember how she'd upset him or who this normal man was.

She couldn't even remember her name.

"Normal… What?"

He laughed quietly.

"It might be nice to go out with Draven."

And she could feel his lips moving against hers, so enticingly close and yet so far. He paused again.

His lips were still there, so very nearly pressed against hers.

"I expect details."

So quiet. And suddenly the lips were gone, the pressure was gone, everything, and Syndra's eyes flicked open to nothing.

She was alone, alone in the dark with not even a shadow for company.


	18. Even more SyndraZed

It wasn't in Syndra's nature to worry.

She didn't have to; she was utterly in control of her life, and the opinions and affairs of the weak had no effect on her.

At least, that's how she used to feel.

Lately she wasn't feeling as… Stable. Secure. She prized her control over everything else in the world. The thought that she might be losing it, that she could lose the restraint she worked so hard to attain, terrified her like she'd never been before.

But it scared her almost as much as knowing why she felt this way.

Syndra had woken up alone, not strange in and of itself. Zed had a habit of slinking off very early in the morning to train his pupils, which typically took all day. She was used to the time by herself; she spent the day meditating in the gardens and going through all the exercises her old tutor had taught her to perfect her control, the things she usually did at her own temple when she wasn't with Zed.

Which, she had to admit, had been a while.

She'd grown accustomed to the dark, quiet gardens and equally silent residents of Zed's temples. She much preferred it to her own home, empty and echoing, though she'd never admit it.

About the time she finished her training, she returned to the empty room she and Zed shared. Empty, but not unusual. She didn't wait up for him, never had, and went right to sleep.

She didn't expect to wake up in the middle of the night though. The moon was perfectly centered in the sky, light filtering through the windows. The room was empty, still quiet.

But not outside the room.

The shadow order would never shout, it didn't suit them, but she could tell by the fact that she heard them at all something was wrong. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes as quickly as she could, dressed, and left the room.

There was a larger temple, situated more in the center of the grounds that was more or less the meeting area for the order. The torches outside were all lit, as well as the ones inside. Through the windows she could see numerous shadows of the people inside quickly moving around, back and forth.

She almost ran through the door, and though a few ninjas looked up, no one said anything. Her presence was a usual thing now, and always welcome. The inside of the temple was silent chaos; there were a dozen or so of the higher class ninjas sprawled on cots, and the smell of blood set Syndra's skin to tingling and raised the hairs on the back of her neck. A few of the ninjas, uninjured, seemed to be giving a report to one of Zed's advisors in a corner of the room.

Not Zed himself… His advisor.

Zed wasn't a big fan of delegation, and he much preferred to be in control of the happenings of the order himself. Everything went through him first, he knew everything, was in charge of everything.

So where was he?

Syndra drifted through the room, stopping once or twice to help tie a bandage or prop someone up. As loathe as it would be for her to admit it, she cared for the ninjas and it unsettled her to see them injured. She kept her trajectory to the back of the room, and the injuries she saw on the men and women increased in severity. The scent of blood was overpowering now, choking her.

But she was in control. Her breathing was normal, she did not falter. She continued forward still, so close…

Of course he was there.

Among ninjas rendered unconscious from their injuries and a few she could feel were dead, Zed was perched on a cot himself. He was pushing away the helping hands around him, hands trying to apply pressure to two large, deep gashes across his chest and down his back. Blood was streaming down his body, dripping and collecting on the floor, but still he refused. He grabbed a towel himself, trying rather unsuccessfully to mop up the mess that was his body.

Syndra stopped at the edge of the ring of people around him, saying nothing. He was so pale, his movements slower than usual. Her head was swimming, her fingers tightened into fists. She was sure her nails were cutting into her palms, but she couldn't feel it, couldn't feel anything. Her eyes were fixated on the wound that maimed his chest, which he'd finally let someone begin to bandage. It was so deep; his blood was staining the cloth…

Her fists twitched.

That smallest of movements impossibly caught Zed's attention, whose eyes moved from the hands fixing more bandages to his back to Syndra's. She looked too put together for the time of night, but tired, and something else…

Syndra didn't say anything when he looked at her, only noticing how bright his eyes looked in the torchlight. Wordlessly he stood up, pushing the hands away from him with finality. He walked a little unsteadily to her, put a hand on her back and guided her from the room that still remained nearly silent.

The night air helped clear Syndra's head from the smell of death that had smothered it, but she still found it rather difficult to think. She only vaguely noticed them arrive at Zed's room, vaguely noticed when he pushed her gently down to the bed.

She snapped back to attention when she felt him tugging at her hand. She looked down to see him prying at the hand that was still clenched into a fist, smoothing out the fingers. Blood welled on her palm, slid off the sides. She stared at the ruby droplets, leaving behind rust colored streaks. She would've kept staring, but Zed slid a finger under her chin, tilting her head so her gaze met his.

"Are you alright?"

She said nothing, didn't move. The finger under her chin turned into a palm against her cheek.

"Syndra?"

She closed her eyes, leaning into the touch. She stayed there silently, allowing the comfort to spread through her limbs and relax her muscles.

She opened her eyes. "I'm fine."

His eyes searched hers for a moment longer, before he retracted his hand and stood up. She heard him collapse heavily onto the bed, shaking her.

She left her spot in favor of the bathroom. She splashed water gently against her face, washed the blood from her hand, examined her eyes in the mirror. Besides a slight shadow beneath them, she appeared normal. She changed back to her bedclothes, trying to be as quiet as possible when she reentered the room. She came back in time to see Zed's shadow slip quickly across the walls, joining the natural shadows in the corners and disappearing.

She shivered.

She took her spot next to Zed, resting her weary head on the pillows. He said nothing, only staring for a moment with eyes that were largely dimmer than before. She rolled over, leaving her back to face him, ignoring when he put an arm around her waist but appreciating the comfort.

This was her problem. Zed was sapping her control, and it scared her, but only because she knew she couldn't fix it. She couldn't –wouldn't- leave Zed, but she didn't know how to remain in control of herself. She didn't know the next time something like this would happen, she didn't know what would happen to her if it did.

She didn't know what her life would be without her carefully obtained discipline.

She tortured herself with what if's until she heard Zed's breathing even out, and tried to relax her own breathing. Slowly, but with her usual restraint, she fell asleep.

But the next morning, for the first time ever, it was Zed who awoke alone.


	19. Rengar short

"He isn't here; hasn't been for a while."

Rengar tried to ignore the voice, continuing to sniff along a certain fern frond that was bent in a very particular way.

His face twisted. The scent was old.

"I told you so." Very smug.

He chose to studiously ignore the voice, checking the surrounding foliage for anything else that would indicate Kha'Zix had been here. As he expected, there was nothing. The damn bug was nothing if not careful.

He heard someone fall very lightly to the ground behind him. The footsteps approached where he was standing, coming to a stop behind his left shoulder. She leaned around him, hair falling around his face.

"That doesn't look very effective."

He'd been fiddling with a bola trap, something he'd recently picked up but hadn't perfected. His inexperience showed in the ties that weren't quite crisp enough, the overall limping appearance of the trap.

He grabbed it from where it lay sadly on the ground, stuffing it back into his pouch.

"I could teach you how to use bushwhacks; it's simple, really. I don't mind helping."

The voice was insistent and so very, _very_ smug, the superior tone grating on his nerves like nothing else in the world could. He cringed away from the rough voice and long hair, continuing forward and trying to look for a different place that Kha'Zix may have left another clue. He really wanted to be as thorough as possible, but she… _Nidalee_ was still following him, like she had absolutely nothing better to occupy her time with. She twirled her javelin as they walked, casually glancing around at the pristine jungle.

"If he was in this part of the jungle recently, I'd know."

Rengar didn't look up from the foliage, but snorted.

"But you knew he was here before; something you neglected to tell me."

She laughed, more of a purr than anything.

"My time was otherwise occupied."

"You're very busy, I'm sure."

He moved higher, above the underbrush and into the thick canopy above them. Bugs loved trees, didn't they?

The sound of paws lightly landing on the branches behind him made him flinch.

He'd avoid Nidalee all together, if it were possible. But anywhere he went in the jungle, she was there, self-proclaimed protector of cougars or something. It was impossible to hunt without her knowing. He was loathe to admit it, but Nidalee was an excellent hunter, and tracker to boot. If Kha'Zix was in the jungle, she'd know.

Getting her to tell him what she knew, however, was a whole different story. Apparently the protector of cougars had a lot of free time, because she took extra care to make sure she found Rengar whenever he visited the jungle, and then proceeded to follow him around for the duration of his stay.

Her scathing sarcasm and dry wit were not something he enjoyed when he was trying to focus.

All his attempts to avoid him were ultimately futile, since he couldn't easily lose her in her own jungle and didn't have the time to sneak around. He was sure if he did, anyway, he'd have the luck to step on one of her bushwhacks.

He considered swallowing his pride, for just a moment, and asking her to show him how to make a proper trap. He tried very hard to ignore the sour taste in his mouth, and decided Kha'Zix was too smart to fall for traps anyway. He was busy contemplating another way to catch Kha'Zix on his rare visits to the jungle when he heard Nidalee pause behind him, growl, and take off in another direction. He stopped moving through the trees. Every time he'd been to the jungle, Nidalee was there from the moment he arrived to the second he left; she'd easily followed him for days on end before.

And now she was leaving?

He pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing himself, but followed her anyway. She was very fast, and it took him a moment or two until he caught up. She was perched on a slender branch, tail whipping back and forth in agitation or anger, he couldn't tell.

Sprawled on a limb in the tree across from where she was sitting was the ruined carcass of a tawny cougar, ripped apart into nearly unrecognizable pieces.

Anger, then.

Rengar, however, was delighted, the thrill of the hunt exciting his muscles. This was _Kha'Zix's_ kill, and it was recent, too. The body was still warm! He quickly made his way over to it, examining the marks to make absolutely sure that the kill belonged to Kha'Zix. The messy way the body was cleaved to make eating easier, but clean, efficient technique used to kill it clearly indicated Kha'Zix. This was the closest he'd been to the damn void bug in months. He leapt off the branch, catching the scent of the void that clung sickeningly to the leaves around him. He was here, he was _close._

The hunt was imminent.


	20. Talon short, chp 5 cont

Talon had a problem.

He was doing a lot of things he'd never done before; lying to Marcus, returning to the slums even though he wasn't sent there, purposely staying away from home to avoid answering unwanted questions about his competency.

Failing at his job.

That night at the dinner party, the night that_ spy_ escaped him. It was long over and done, but it still nagged at his mind in a very inconvenient way. He'd never let someone sneak into his house without leaving in a body bag. He'd never let a spy go without a knife or two lodged somewhere important.

Until now.

And he'd been so _close_, so close to capturing this artisan of espionage that had eluded his grasp. He still didn't quite understand what had happened. He had followed her when she left the dinner party, when he's first been sure that he saw her disguise falter. And she was trapped; the bathroom was at the end of a hall and didn't let out anywhere. His next action was rather silly; he'd knocked on the door, not sure why he expected a response. He waited just a second, and opened the door.

To nothing.

It was empty, definitely not big enough to hide an entire person. And he was sure that she was in here; there were no other rooms between here and the dining room that he hadn't checked first.

It was impossible, but she was gone.

And of course he had to explain his actions to the General; it was very unlike talon to up and run from a room without explanation. Although Marcus didn't say it outright, Talon could tell he was more than disappointed in his failure to capture the spy.

But no more than Talon was disappointed in himself.

He couldn't stay in Noxus, and he couldn't come back until he had some new information. Since he wasn't on a job, that left one place for him to be; The Institute.

Honestly, he didn't enjoy being there at all. It was too loud and too crowded for his tastes, and quite frankly, the people were just plain weird. He wasn't just talking about the champions, either. The Summoners were skeezy looking commoners in long robes that always seemed to be looking passed you, even while making eye contact.

Despite being typically quite macho, they gave Talon the creeps.

He really didn't have a particular objective in mind today, and allowed himself to be carried along with the general flow of traffic inside the Institute. He passed champion rooms, Summoner's quarters, quite a few training areas that sparked his interest. He ended up in the cafeteria of sorts, slightly dismayed at how packed it was. His usual spot (way in the back, conveniently located in the only shaded corner) was currently occupied by a very small, very dark yordle, who's arms were crossed and studiously trying to ignore the other yordle with the huge hat yammering off at his left ear.

He steered clear.

The only easily accessible spot he could find was practically in the middle of the room, and seating more than one Demacian, he could tell. He grabbed his food and sulked to the seat, pulling his hood down low and trying to finish the meal as fast as possible.

Clearly, not fast enough.

The girl to his left elbowed his arm in the midst of some gesture absolutely required by the conversation she was having, knocking Talon's fork across the table. He huffed an agitated sigh, not bothering to retrieve it and beginning to leave instead.

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry!"

The girl whipped around in a flurry of long blonde hair and vanilla, nearly hitting Talon in the face. He almost – _almost_ – let the clearly Demacian girl have it, but he found he couldn't quite speak at the moment.

Her eyes.

They were big and shiny and so _blue,_ so deeply alive and intelligent.

And currently focused on his face like he was insane.

"Er, are you okay?"

Talon realized he'd been staring very creepily at her face with his mouth open. A lack of composure wasn't Talon's thing, had never been, but he couldn't stop himself from stammering.

_This_ was the spy! This small slip of a Demacian girl, all blonde and frail and pretty was the mastermind that had eluded him. He couldn't believe it.

"It's you- You're the spy!"

And he knew he was right, because those telltale eyes widened in shock and she let out a very unladylike curse under her breath.

"Well, shit. "


	21. Miss Fortune short

Like any other pirate worth their salt, Miss Fortune knew there was treasure lost somewhere beneath the waves. And like every other pirate in Bilgewater, she had no idea where it was.

But she knew who did.

Every night Sarah Fortune would sit on the edge of her ship, dangle her feet above the surf and watch the moon. She always made sure she was moored close to shore, close to an area full of treacherous rocks and shallow tide pools. They attracted some pretty interesting things: eels, dolphins, seals, every color of fish you could imagine…

Mermaids.

Sarah was fond of moon watching because apparently, so were mermaids. Or one particular mermaid, to be specific. Nami loved staring at the moon with those big amber fish eyes of hers, and she really loved all the tiny tide pools stuck between the rocks. Hence why Sarah risked ruining her ship to be near them.

The Marai Mermaid would spend hours flitting from one pool to another, talking to the fish. It was interesting to watch, really. Sarah herself enjoyed watching the lionfish. But she had bigger fish to fry, so to speak.

Naturally, Nami wasn't all that friendly with pirates. She preferred quieter, less illegally inclined friends that maybe didn't smell so much like alcohol. She guessed she didn't mind Sarah all that much though. She was clean and smart and was a little bit sneakier about how she made her money. She was pleasant to talk to, also. Most of the time, she actually seemed to care about what Nami was saying, and not even the treasure parts too.

But mostly, she was only interested in the treasure.

She wanted to know all about it: whose was it, what it was, how much did Nami think it was worth, _where _was it. Nami knew the locations of hundreds of shrunken ships that knew for a fact had dragged a lot of valuable stuff to the bottom of the ocean. It was fun finding them.

It was more fun messing with Sarah.

This particular night Nami was at the beach very early, just hardly passed moon rise. Sarah saw her hunched over a tide pool, standing (was it considered standing?) very still. Sarah left her spot on her ship to traverse the rocks below, to where Nami was. She found her coddling a rather plump starfish, murmuring to it for a moment before placing it oh so gently back in the water. She looked up at Sarah, grinning, the small fins around her face waving just slightly.

"He says the water is colder than he's used to. And dirtier."

Sarah shrugged. "He's a starfish. I don't think he gets to be picky."

Nami flipped the tip of her tail, most of which was in the tide pool she'd plucked the starfish from. Water splashed outwards, landing on Sarah's clothes.

"It _is_ dirtier."

Sarah grimaced at her shirt.

Nami paid no attention, fixing those big eyes on the moon. Her tail flicked slowly through the water, making it undulate and splash over the sides of the pool. Altogether, very peaceful. And quiet.

"How's the moon treating you?"

Nami giggled.

"I can talk to the fish, not the moon."

Sarah thought she sounded rather wistful.

"How's Bilgewater treating you?"

It was Sarah's turn to laugh.

"The beer is crap, the people are crap, the pay is crap. So quite nicely, I'd say."

Nami grinned. "Piracy, not enjoyable? I'd never have imagined."

Sarah chose not to respond; talking about how very wrong it was to be a pirate was Nami's favorite thing to do, but for Sarah… Not so much. Truthfully, she loved everything about it. The terrible people, smelly ports, the overall shady quality of her work. Who wouldn't want to be a pirate?

The sound of Nami's tail smacking against the water answered her question.

"I have something for you."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. This was new.

"Oh?"

Nami reached into the tide pool, fishing around in the sand for a moment.

"Listen, I'm sure your starfish is great and all but I-"

The mermaid held up a hand, silencing her, and pulled something that was definitely not a starfish from the water.

It was a very long, very old necklace, the gold chain dirty and sticky with algae. But the diamond, the diamond nearly as big as Nami's eyes that hung from the chain still glittered in the moonlight. Nami held it out to Sarah, another huge grin on her face.

"Cool, huh?"

Sarah took it wordlessly, about to ask if Nami was sure she wanted to give it away, but changed her mind and decided to remain silent.

Well, almost silent.

"Just for me? Nami, you're too kind."

The grin on her face turned into a very smug smirk, and when she answered, Sarah swore the mermaid had planned this whole night, down to every last reaction.

"Yeah the necklace is nice, but you should've seen the rest of it!"

She leaned backwards, spreading her arms across the sky, tail flipping out of the water.

"There was stuff everywhere!"

Sarah's eye twitched, the thought of so much money in one place nearly giving her an aneurysm.

"And you're not going to tell me where it is… Are you."

Nami smiled again.

"Nope! But he will."

Nami once again held out her hand, offering Sarah a small, purple starfish.


	22. SyndraZed

Syndra could tell this was very, very wrong.

She could tell because her stomach was twisted into uncomfortable knots, something she'd never experienced before. Her spheres had shrunk more and more until fading away completely, and she couldn't focus enough to bring them back.

Just two words.

"I'm leaving."

She'd heard them a hundred times from him before, and a hundred times she'd responded flippantly and sarcastically and never felt a moments unease.

So why now?

He'd even gone out of his way to reassure her; something hideously out of character for the both of them. He stroked her cheek, tried to tease her, tried to kiss away the worry that was eating her alive.

"It's Shen." And that was it. All he had to say.

His eyes were bright and excited, muscles twitching in anticipation. And still, the unease, that was so unnatural and foreign to her.

She hated it.

She tried to turn this worry into something she was readily familiar with: anger.

She twisted her lip into a sneer, tried to plant her signature smirk across her face.

"That hardly seems worth the energy. What a waste."

She could tell it was the wrong thing to say from the way he leaned away from her and narrowed his gaze. He took his leave then, without another goodbye, without another touch she needed so badly.

It had been a while.

She had stayed at Zed's temple for just one night; the empty room added to the tightness in her chest, and she found it was very difficult to sleep.

She returned to her fortress, back to what she'd been doing every day until she waltzed into his life, so fatefully altering her own by proxy. It all seemed so mundane to her now; her exercises to perfect balance bored her, her meditation did nothing to relax her. Her spheres, once the picture of vitality and power, were small and hung low around her, rotating slowly and sometimes not appearing at all.

She was listless, and listlessness did not suit her.

She waited and meditated, waited and balanced, waited and slept and ate and stared at sunsets and moon rises and everything that used to give her joy.

It'd been months, and still she waited.

She waited until one night, after watching the moon rise that no longer made her feel ethereal and strong, she turned to her bed and fell very limply into it, the moon's light making her feel graceless and cumbersome. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply; the air tugged at lungs that felt like they refused to inflate, denying her the oxygen she needed. The pillows that used to smell like freesias and rain hardly reached her nose, but they were soft and conforming, the coddled her and swathed her in shallow comfort. She fell asleep, sprawled on the side of the bed farthest from the windows.

She awoke well into the morning, passed the sunrise she'd never missed before. Her spheres were gone this morning; she was too tired to will them out just yet. She laid there for a while, until her muscles practically screamed for movement. She stretched her arms above her, her legs across the bed. Slowly flicked open her eyes. She stopped mid-stretch, and tried very hard to ignore the sudden pounding of her heart, which had felt so still and dormant as of late.

"That's very unsettling."

And it was; she wasn't used to being snuck up on. If it were anyone else, it would have been impossible. But he wasn't just anyone.

Zed smirked just slightly, keeping his eyes on hers.

"The bed head is also."

Her lips tried to curve into a smile, but didn't quite make it. She studied his face; a new scar stretched across his previously unmarked cheek, small enough to be confined to that side of his face but new and red and angry. His right arm was bandaged, although it looked fresh and pristine. His clothes were clean; he stood straight and didn't appear weary in the slightest. The tightness in her chest that had become so commonplace eased just slightly, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling. The bed shifted around her and there was pressure against her forehead, pressure that moved to her lips. And then It was gone, but when he talked she could still feel his mouth against hers.

"I've changed my mind; I like the hair."

And there was the smell she'd been missing, of life and storms and comfort and everything she loved. Everything she'd lost so quickly was here, it wasn't gone forever, she could _breathe. _She inhaled deeply, lungs inflating fully like they hadn't in months. It was glorious.

She smiled, lips tugging in a way that she missed. She opened her eyes, but she was too close to Zed's face to easily focus on one thing. She settled for raising one hand to stroke the new scar that cut across his cheek. He just so slightly flinched away, but said nothing.

"What happened?" She murmured. It was a loaded question, but she would settle for just the explanation of the scar.

She waited for a response, in the meantime angling her body to better fit it to Zed's. His hand tangled in her hair, kept her face from moving away from his.

"We found Shen."

That was what he'd set out to do, why he'd been gone for nearly a year. But she could tell by the way he confessed, almost ashamed, that things hadn't gone well. Her only answer was to press her lips against his once more, savoring the feeling she'd been without for so long. She pulled away with the smallest of sighs, content.

"Miss me?"

He laughed so quietly, breath fanning her face.

The words made her tremble; it almost hurt not to answer right away. She snorted.

"I don't miss people."

The lie almost burned her tongue. From the way his hand untangled itself from her hair and paused to cup her cheek, then continued down her shoulder, her ribs, resting at her hip, she could tell he knew she was lying, but he kept silent.

Wise.

She could have stayed there, in that moment, forever. But life wouldn't stand still, not even for her. Zed had to leave, order business, and she wasn't quite in the mood to go back with him. She needed alone time, alone time not tainted with worry to think. She waited until that night, after Zed had returned and fell asleep, to sneak from the bed and out on to her terrace, standing in the moonlight that once again bathed her in strength.

On the one hand, she was indescribably happy that Zed was back; the fact that her body already yearned to be back in bed attested to the fact.

But on the other hand, she couldn't stop the nagging voice in her head that reminded her, over and over until she was sick, that she was not Zed's top priority. For as long as he lived, Shen and the order would take precedence over everything. She would be third on the list, for the foreseeable future, because Shen would clearly not be easily dealt with, and Zed would never give up on his order. And he'd demonstrated quite clearly how easy it was for him to leave her, how easy it was to show that he had his priorities in order and nothing would sway him from it. She'd waited eight months for him to return, without word or news. Nothing. And she'd done nothing but mope around like a forlorn puppy, awaiting its master. Syndra did not grieve for loss, because she did not lose.

Until Zed.

He'd shattered most of her old personality, making her quite soft. She considered the idea of making the separation permanent… But despite the relief she would feel of never having to worry about someone else's welfare, of not having to watch herself wither away when they decided there were more important things to concern themselves with, the thought didn't make her happy. She'd allowed herself to get too involved with Zed, too entranced to simply walk away.

A different thought occurred to her.

She, undoubtedly, wanted Zed. And never in her life had she yearned for something she didn't immediately acquire.

She always got what she wanted, and she wanted to be first on Zed's list, before his precious order and that pesky man Shen. She smiled up at the moon, silently thanking it for the strength it had lent her on so many nights. She needed strength to conquer, and conquer she would.

It was her favorite thing to do.


	23. SyndraZed (more)

"You're staring."

Even if her spheres couldn't tell he was there, her skin could. The gaze she felt on the back of her neck made her skin tingle.

"I'm curious. "

"Be curious over there."

Syndra motioned very, very slightly with one hand in a direction vaguely away from where she was. Zed laughed and only moved to sit on the ground, staring more intently at what Syndra was doing.

What she was _trying_ to do.

She took a deep breath, moved one of her spheres into the correct position. Gently, carefully placed one foot on the orb she knew was in front of her. She touched her toes to it gingerly, and then placed her whole foot on it. Carefully did the same with her other foot. She swayed for just a moment, her heart leaping in her chest, but regained her balance. She stood there with her arms out to the sides, keeping perfectly still. Absolute balance.

Absolute control.

She did the same with another sphere, placing it above the one she was standing on and in front of her. Keeping her eyes closed, she repeated the process until she was again standing completely still. Her mind was clear, her breathing was calm. Everything was simple. One foot in front of the other. Stand. Balance. Repeat.

Breathe.

And Zed, to his credit, watched the rather uneventful activity with unwavering attention. He wondered what physical balance had to do with the mental balance Syndra craved, but decided now was not the time to interrupt her.

Syndra might not have even noticed. Her mind was singly focused on maintaining her balance, carefully placing the spheres higher and higher. Her body was light and at her command, she controlled where here feet went, she controlled her balance. She was at equilibrium, she would not sway, would not tilt, most of all she would not fa-

Zed shifted just slightly, breaking Syndra's concentration. The foot she'd been in the process of placing on a sphere landed on nothing, it fell through the air and she careened forward.

She was weightless for just one moment, before colliding heavily with something very hard and very uncomfortable. Despite the bruises she could feel forming on her back, she decided the situation could be incredibly worse; the greaves she could feel pressing against her spine were usually attached to blades of rather significant size.

Syndra finally opened her eyes, connecting with Zed's. She thought he looked concerned for just the smallest fraction of a second, but he smirked before she could be sure.

Syndra shoved away the arm that kept her pressed against Zed's chest, landing rather ungracefully on her feet. Zed tried to hang on to her wrist but she yanked her hand away, rubbing it unhappily. He'd been holding on a little harder than she thought. She stalked away, nursing her wrist and her pride. Of course he followed her.

"It was impressive, really."

She ignored him, aiming away from the forest and back towards her room.

Well, _their_ room. Maybe it wasn't the best place to go, but she was too angry to think of a better one.

"I would have thought you'd be grateful I caught you."

Syndra whipped around, fury twisting her face.

"_You_ made me fall! I was fine until you interrupted me!"

She was aware she sounded rather childish, but she really wasn't in the mood for reason.

She _never_ fell.

Zed crossed his arms and said nothing, and chose wisely not to follow her when she started off again.

He waited until much later that night to see her, when she was close to falling asleep. Too tired to argue.

Hopefully too tired to be mad.

She still tried to ignore him, moving as close to the edge of the bed as she could. He waited a moment, but reached out a hand to trace a bruise that had just begun to mark the pale skin under her shoulder blade. Syndra _thought_ she heard him murmur an apology, but she was nearly asleep and couldn't be sure. She was still angry at him, petty as it might be, but allowed him to shift closer, to make the hand against her back an arm around her waist.

"I loathe you."

She mumbled nearly unintelligibly. He laughed against her neck, and as she slipped deeper and deeper into sleep, she decided maybe she wasn't as mad as she was before.

"I loathe you, too."


	24. SyndraZed (More 2)

For something that couldn't actually talk, Zed's shadow was quite loud. During meditation, naturally. It whispered rather vicious things to Zed with the intention of driving him to violence or insanity, he couldn't tell.

But it was breaking his concentration. Zed waved a hand through the shadow that was mimicking his pose on the grass next to him, but it simply reformed into the same position on Zed's other side.

Irritating.

The shadow laughed in his head, shoving gruesome scenes of people crying and in pain into his thoughts. People in despair, people dying, _Syndra_ dyi-

Once again for the short time he'd been out in the forest, Zed stopped what he was doing and moved. The shadow didn't like bothering him while he was moving all that much. It really only seemed to like torturing him when he was trying to think, somewhere quiet and alone. He picked a new spot, mostly in the sun this time. He sat down, evened his breathing, closed his eyes, relaxed…

Silence, for the moment. But Zed could still feel the shadow, sitting at the edge of the patch of sunlight. Waiting.

Deep breaths.

The sun was warm, too warm, but he could hardly feel it against his skin. His back was sore, sweat dripped down his temple, his scar itched. All of it, muted and quiet and far away. Right now it was only him and the air, him and the feeling of his lungs inflating slowly, evenly. Serenely.

He heard from seemingly far away when someone sat next to him, sitting too close to be the shadow or anyone from the order. To her credit, she remained perfectly still and silent, even though he knew she'd been meditating all morning and was probably sick of it by now.

She timed her breaths with his, even and slow. The rhythm was soothing and lulled him farther into the blankness that he sought to achieve with meditation, farther from the shadow and the sun and his thoughts…

One of Syndra's spheres brushed his shoulder, breaking his careful concentration. It was like coming up for air after being submerged for too long; his next breath was sharp and everything came at the same time, the burning sun, the pain in his back, the smell of Syndra's hair. He opened his eyes and glanced in her direction. She was still, breathing evenly with the smallest of smiles on her face.

"You're supposed to be meditating."

Zed nudged the sphere that wandered too close with his elbow.

"You're touching me."

She opened her eyes, grin increasing.

"No, but I can be."

She moved as if to embrace him… or pounce, he couldn't tell. He moved easily out of her way, turning her momentum against her. Syndra ended up pinned to the ground, arms pressed into the grass. Not the position she'd originally planned on, but she'd take it.

"Now who's touching who?"

She grinned upwards, gloating. She wiggled one wrist free and reached upward, grabbing Zed's shirt, tugging him closer. He resisted for a moment, teasing her.

"I thought all the touching was bad?"

She simpered, sticking her bottom lip out in a pout. Nearly irresistible.

"I lied! Now come here."

Zed happily complied, leaning low enough to press his lips against hers. Syndra moved the hand she had free from his shirt to link her fingers with his, still trying to bring him closer. Syndra was everywhere, he could feel her under his hands and his chest, her legs brushed his, her hair was tickling his cheek, the smell of lavender was heady and thick.

He didn't think he'd ever smelled something so sweet.

He could easily have spent his whole day there, pressing himself closer to her and finding new ways to move his lips against hers, but she was an even bigger tease than he was. He felt her grin, and use the hand she had entwined with his to push him away. He groaned, opening his eyes to that mischievous grin of hers.

"It's too hot here."

"No kidding."

He tried to move closer again, but she kept their hands between them. She rolled her eyes.

"You picked a very bright place to meditate. I'll be at home."

She leaned forward, using her farewell kiss to reverse their positions, leaving Zed on the ground and sauntering away. He watched her go, flustered but unable to remove the smile on his face. Even the reappearance of his shadow couldn't ruin the moment.

It didn't even try.

Zed usually tried to tune the shadow out, but it's thoughts were unusually loud at the moment. But for the first time ever, they weren't sick and disturbed.

Even the shadow liked Syndra.


	25. DianaNami short

"What's the moon saying tonight?"

Diana didn't even flinch at the sudden voice behind her. She was lost in the moons glow, had been for hours.

"She is silent."

Nami rested one arm against the rock Diana was on, leaning her head against it.

"She's always silent." Nami sighed sadly.

Diana glanced at the mermaid, eyes full of pity, eyes that had been graced by the moon. To live for the moon and be unable to speak to it… Tragedy.

"You're out a little late. Or early, I suppose. For you."

For a moment Diana was as quiet as the moon.

"Actually, I favor this time of day the most."

It was nice, in a secluded, quiet kind of way. Diana had picked a spot at the beach far away from where anyone but Nami would be able to reach, perched on the same rock as always. It was still dark out; the moon hadn't surrendered the sky to the sun just yet. The waves that rolled against the beach were black and hushed, sighing against the sand. Diana liked the quiet. She could sit there for hours, listening to the ocean and the moon. And Nami whenever she happened by.

Although Nami was rather loud, she was kind and made for very good company. She was also the only other person who would begin to understand Diana's attachment to the moon.

Well, almost the only one.

Nami waited until the waves began to glint against the sand, and Diana's hair started to shine.

"You don't usually stay _this_ long. Is something the matter?"

Again Diana remained silent, giving herself ample time to formulate a response.

"I miss it sometimes."

Nami frowned.

"You miss the beach? But you're always here."

Diana laughed, quiet as the waves.

"The sun."

The frown on Nami's face deepened. She missed the sun? It has just barely begun to rise, and already Diana was squinting against the light, muscles twitching and urging her away. She hated the sun. Why would she say she missed it, if she absolutely hated every single thing about it?

Oh. Not a _thing_.

Diana endured the sunlight until her eyes began to water, and until even Nami was getting uncomfortable. She stayed because somewhere, Leona was looking up at it and talking to it just like Diana had with the moon.

And for the only time in her life, Diana appreciated the light that warmed her skin.


	26. LuxTalon short, chp 20 cont

Lux was scared.

Talon had followed her all the way from the mess hall, all the way to the room she had at the institute that was practically on the other side of the building. She was walking as fast as she could, studiously ignoring him, but it was no use.

He wouldn't give up.

She rounded on him in a hallway that was deserted, not quite to the room yet.

"What do you want from me? You can't drag me back to Noxus; the League forbids its champions from fighting, and you can't kill me. You know I won't tell you anything. Why do you keep following me?"

Talon crossed his arms, his signature cowl once again shrouding his face.

"I could care less about taking you back to Noxus, and I don't care about your life either. But no one has _ever_ escaped me before."

Lux rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop her heart from pounding. Regardless of the Leagues strict rules about the champions killing each other, Talon was the best assassin in Noxus, and they were alone. He could make Lux disappear and no one would ever know. She tried her best to sneer, but it felt wrong, her usual bravado abandoning her.

"Spies don't reveal their secrets. You of all people should know."

He kept his arms crossed and mouth shut, waiting for a better answer. Lux was by far the most skilled spy he'd ever met from Demacia, and he was more than intrigued. It burned him that the small blonde had bested him, and he didn't plan on letting her go before learning something, _anything._ She tried to turn away again, but he dashed behind her, blocking the hallway. She jumped, not quite catching the swift movement, and tried to back away from him.

"I had you cornered; like now. How did you get away?"

Lux had to decide if she wanted to be trapped in this hallway with him forever, or maybe reveal a little bit of Demacian intel. What did she care, anyway? She had no love for the Demacian military she was forced into, and she had a feeling Talon wasn't going to take it straight to Noxian Command anyway. They couldn't hurt her even if he did.

She twirled the baton she always had at her side, trying to smile coyly.

"Light bending has interesting effects on people."

It wasn't the answer Talon had expected. She used the tip of the baton to move him slightly out of the way, continuing on to her room. If she could just _get_ there, she could lock herself away until Talon left and leave for Demacia in the morning, so she wouldn't have to deal with the irritating Noxian anymore. She cringed when she heard his light footsteps behind her, and tried to increase her pace.

But there was no outrunning Talon.

"But why? The party was useless; it was airhead aristocrats talking about their disappointing lives… There was nothing to learn. There was no reason to be there."

Lux's mouth twisted and she tried to walk faster. It's not like she had _wanted_ to be there. There were a million other things she'd have rather been doing, a million other places she wanted to be. She didn't want to be in Noxus that night, dressed up as some old woman from Zaun.

She didn't even want to be in Demcacia.

She was at her room now, immediately reaching for the doorknob. She wasn't quick enough, couldn't disappear before Talon grabbed the hand not white knuckling the baton.

"_Why?_"

She whipped around, yanking her hand from his grasp. She tried to control herself, but her throat was tight and her eyes were stinging uncomfortably.

"Because they _made_ me. You think I had a choice, that I would _want_ to spy on your family?"

Her voice was venom and malice, the resentment she felt for the people who had forced her into service manifesting in her tone towards Talon. Lux couldn't see his face, and he hadn't reacted in any way to what she said. She wasted no time in disappearing into her room, leaving him behind.

She was forced? It sounded very out of place when describing the Demacian military, but he didn't know enough about its politics to be sure. He didn't pity her, but he was… intrigued. If she was so unhappy, why did she stay? How was she forced into the military in the first place? And _how_ did the light bending work?

He had to know.


End file.
